"From Bitchfest of Champions" by Eli Masterson


 I started repeating your name so


you’d tilt toward meaningless


but when you became strange


again I remembered


all strangeness is fleeting,


only the ordinary slow will stay


and I don’t live at home anymore.




You’re like a monotone building that houses


a job I have just quit, and which I leave quietly


smiling and wearing my holiday cape




I’ve got the whole world doing whatever


whatever you can get over the counter


roman candles and a Christmas sweater



I’m agonistic when it comes to the weather


but still believe in tight pants and heat death


so whatever it is that you’re doing now



get over it




I’d rather just wander in the


darker orchards and groves


and hold dear an abstract love


like an empty jar or artwork


that has not been made yet



I was never the profound one


but I follow through and now


there are no more tunnels


in which to play make-believe,


no more Victorians, no more


joke Martha Stewart fetishes



maybe I grabbed all your


white fucking wicker and


threw it down the stairs



I won’t call you honey


and won’t call your hotline


but I’m still wearing


your white flag