“I would eat a jukebox if it made me fall in love/with my work again 
        Jim Gustafson

jukebox poem: detroit #2, some eliot
kristin hatch

        to rabbit a rest place for come-visit, they bent
        your paperwings
        backwards & redressed the guest bed.

but how should i, metaphor for instance:
a patina rome, your prettier great depression.

my courtly young lovely/my fingergrease man,
i miss the candor of your bonemaps cupped in my hand.
we’d trapeze tattooed over broken-barred wig shops
& two-step burlesque as shadow drunk tarzans

but we were too soundless, our loveshow too broke – 

after the parade i found a jukebox, added some change
& wanted so badly to want.

        gray halo, let’s tour the smokestack of absence,
        abandon the production of lost,
        that ether.

we are nowhere, really, entire. 

        domesticated standstill:
        i said, eat the peach.
        imagine the can package canned and a thousand in extra-size,
        now rise & repeat: eat the damned peach.
        i mistaked you for an old man they gave me,
        weak teeth.

            desire, you predictable thief
            let us, a looking glass to a handprint, that clack
            here’s a quarter for the song i let linger
            now get off your knees

beg with your brickstone, you said
then unroll your spine at the ankle of its tease.

 
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