My Good Friend Jesus Gives the Best Advice
My good friend Jesus is always telling me
it’s better to die alone than live
in a toxic relationship. I should know, he says,
and it’s likely true. He knows everything
it seems, at least, everything there is to know
about me, all my neuroses. I had a lover like that
once, he tells me, as we sit beneath a fig tree,
all these cocks crowing catcalls at him and me
but mostly him I think. He is beautiful I think
and unassuming somehow and though it makes me bad
probably, it makes me happy to think even he has been
locked in codependent relationships in the past, although
a love triangle’s far more exciting than anything
wrong with me, but there I go again, envying.
You’ve got to divorce yourself from the catalyst
of your anguish, he says, but this sounds
like psychobabble I tell him, so he tries again
and says, If your man offends, cut him off—
and this I think is the kind of good advice
I need, and I tell him this and kiss
him on each cheek as he kisses me
and I remind him we’ve got men’s league later
and he’s on the mound and he winks
and says he wouldn’t miss it
for the world.
Pareidolia
It’s like how everything seems to be going fine
and then you’re walking by and
you see a person who reminds you of a person
and it all goes to shit again—
like how the hot dog vendor calls out
your name but it’s not your name it’s
someone else with your name
and your hot dog—
it’s like finding the milk carton kid
on Tinder and having a nice conversation
and asking him to dinner and he shows up
and looks nothing like his picture—
it’s like what the hell that’s really rude
to age or change or disappear without a trace
to look me in the face and pretend to be something
you’re not.
I’ve got this problem where I see your face
engraved in old potatoes and burnt on toast
even though I know you will not be caught
dead in any of those places.
—
Weston Morrow is a poet, freelance writer, and graduate student of English literature at Central Washington University. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in After the Pause, Boston Accent Lit, Riggwelter, and elsewhere. He can be found on Twitter @WMorrow.
Daniel Ignacio is a digital artist from Toronto. He creates surreal landscapes and painterly environments. Daniel’s artistic style and themes are heavily influenced by science fiction, fantasy, minimalism, urbanism, and some aspects of the Impressionist style.
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