APOCALIPS NOW / w4m / Denver (KILGORE BOOKS)
You: The Chicago in me. Me: A Case of You. Come here, Fireworks, you’re why my Dad never talks about Vietnam. Don’t worry, I’ll take you from hell to breakfast, give you every souvenir. I’ve already written you off. You: Faux-naif. Me: Petit blanc. You: Haymaker. Me: Boilermaker. You don’t need drugs, but I am drugs. It’s my felony and I’ll cry if I want to. You’re guilty by association, a seashell in a sandbox. I’m a half-burnt candle from camp, will take your jeopardy surface and raise it by the Werther effect. You: Kinkajou. Me: Bare-hearted glass frog. You: Strophic. Me: Stichic. Your photo vest against my chest, I’ll lower your mosquito net. You: 35 East Wacker. Me: Marina City. You can sleep on my floor, use every dish in the cupboard. We’ll have friends at our ice cream social network and serve napalm in the morning. You: Tarzan. Me: Tarzan.
via Brandi Homan
Actual response to the ad:
Dear James,
I love it! Sounds good, I’ll be there soon, on your floor with all your dishes, painting them and waking for napalm. I love you and your poetry! Sorry I’m not so fun lately, I think I’m too overwhelmed to do anything in this house that is going to take a miracle. At least I’m leaving it tomorrow. Thanks for the poem, it’s great! I love you!
Love, Mary
