#12

Jared Joseph




My twin, the nameless one, I don't know if I'm writing this
For my own sake, or what urge to slake, I forget the name
Of this drink, bartender, Longface. It's got bitters. Thinks me of an elephant's long
Memory, so because it doesn't know its own name
Becomes another person at 32. Frumpier. Feels more
Like a Henry, or a Juniper, something mighty, with seed but without
Flower. In the morning you pumped my
Bicycle tires and didn't charge me service, like
Getting a handjob. Giddy huffing down the bicycle lane, wheeze,
Hard to say no to Gouda cheese, why mate? Fertility? Bagels and burnt eggs
Sizzling, the sound of thinning hair. To go popping fiery
Away, a wilt. Oh Frank, my precursor, and me
The afterthought, Man as symbol &
Man as chubby. I dreamt last night of I unarmed and nuns swearing
Perfumed, that's not even interesting. The violence of life sanded by habit, time-
Stained, while the violent wearies. Panicking Death at 23 and Fear both
Changed my name, as one leaf curling slow in popping fire changes the chemical composition.
But this morning leaves
On the road wet with oil and water
Form a thin uniform (full margins) film reflecting the above slab of slatternly sky and me
From the bottom, my legs pedaling, looking a dog-paddle, a fast crawl, today
The rain going pock pock on the water
On the water, no hands, writing Pock Pock on notepad
On the bicycle, no hands, unarmed, as if learning, again,
No hands. The second-hand still scares me, changes me first
Experience, I don't feel like, maybe another
Edition, I want to chew your nails. The space heater at work,
I want to take your ticket, give me your hands and you can park here,
I want to give you your ticket, I want to write new beautiful things
& reprint them again, again, I haven't cried in months now, I can't stop
Lachrimating. Aging. Mechastatizing. I think my girlfriend exists, loves
Me, rubs me, Janus can't tell me
From me. But in the past I wasn’t enough
To be dead, in the future I was
Dead, and now
I'm afraid, chubby, lozenged, tipsy, cankered, (this isn't a print, fine, none of them are
Good ones, but if it were it would be) insculped
In wood, engraved
Distractedly, as if watching
Two unnamed irresistible to each other drunk-swinging planetary
Half-bagels







Jared Joseph lives in Cartaya, Spain. Thank you for reading him. Feel free to continue to do so in elimae, & soon enough in trnsfr.