Men in LA: A Formatting Error

Three poems on dating in Los Angeles

A small sequence on dating in Lalaland.

These poems are not meant to be taken as biography, only as observations under slightly unstable lighting.

Thanks for reading.

—S

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Up, Up, and Away

Your Diet Coke tears,
Joe Rogan small-dick energy,
Paulo Coelho memes.

You talk
and talk.

I ponder
 three flawless olives
 in my filthy martini.

I sip—
try not to choke—
measure the distance
between your gibberish
and the time left
to drop you at LAX.

---

Bondage Ducky

His name is preposterous:
the number Seven.

But I don’t mind—
not with his long black hair,
delicate yoga limbs.

He feeds me dark chocolate
at the edge of a waterfall,
spanks me a little.

He tries to make me cry.
I laugh.

He mails me a rubber ducky—
in bondage gear.

I keep it.

---

I Cut and Cut

Let me be brutally honest
My lungs don’t work
because I am fat and idle—
not too fat and idle to be
the Silver Lake Girl
you fuck
in secret.

My blade is always sharp—
I cut myself out
like it’s nothing.
I cut you out
like it’s nothing.

I cut your poor school French,
your old man repetition
repetition
repetition
repetition
rep…