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So Turn This Motherfucker Up Only If It Feels Right

by: Gregory Sherl

for Clay B.

It just be one of those days says The Weather
Channel, says the moon being the moon, says
the water almost gone, says the song
going We about to get real unprofessional.
I have never worn a suit & meant it, but shit,
my nighttime medicine’s done fucked me up.
Last night my nighttime medicine fucked me
up too, & the day before that I took pills that made
me feel like summer. Today I breathe sleep.
All of my poems start underwater, except this one.
Except the next one after this one, too.
That one starts with a boy forgetting he’s a boy,
thinking he’s a penguin, thinking he’s an otter,
thinking
he’s a horned owl. Is there such things as horned
owls?
I nod toothpaste. I pretend to know how long this air lasts.
Don’t worry, the poem after this one & the next one:
that shit be twenty feet deep.
Does a wetsuit get sad if it never gets wet?
After ghost towns, everyone looks past the coast.
The movies say aliens. The movies say treasure
chests, the movies say Johnny Depp’s agent
making a treasure chest. The movies say Johnny Depp’s
treasure chest fills its own treasure chest. Holy fuck,
sometimes the ocean goes six miles deep.
I don’t know how to think that long.
Clay says we should run through a forest & impregnate
our girlfriends. Our girlfriends just don’t know
they’re our girlfriends yet
. I nod while wondering
if an octopus can nod. My first kiss tasted like pizza
because I had just eaten pizza. I am sick of existing
casually. I am moving to the west coast to sell
sunlight.
I am making my kissing always be in the present
perfect tense.
My first kiss was at church. How holy I have been
given to be gotten.