Jake I Don't Know the First Thing About Desire

This story appears in
26.1 - Winter/Spring 2014

Also in this issue

When you think of me, don't think of me wooing/the bed all thick-tongued with vodka./O god, come to my assistance./don't think of me baby-/oiled in a green bikini with dirty feet.

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I teach all day, get a weak signal at night,/Malbec, Idol, pasta, peas, cherries. Night, night./Wake at three a.m. to wind-streaked dark, I know/death thinks about me, like a dog...

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I have a bird in my mouth. He can't get out. his wings and head keep struggling. Everybody notices bulges in my cheeks and asks what's wrong. Rrmmrmff I say.I can't seem to get my mouth wide enough …

Jake I Don't Know the First Thing About Desire

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