TO THEM, WHO LEFT

who pledged this bloodoath to the registrar
& texted some father instruction  college
is just a place to keep your cocks
ballcap   said the halfloaded   youtube version
of you  your own mascot  whose boxes
move in the twitchy      little manshapes
of a shitty connection   every time you said
housing bubble   another chicken was born
to roam  the empty    strip mall you imagined
when balls deep    in the fear of this  chickens
schlepping    their precise    dinosaur feet
through the gumball    scatter   &   the press-on
tramp stamps & the plastic   skull rings
& various loot    from the grocery machines
of my childhood   the nature documentary
I measured in student loans
you wont like me much when you hear my band
dirty sanchez & the cowboy killers  where Im from
no is true   has teeth   the difference
between us is you are eating the weirdo
comely grease  &    I do the camouflage
version of the spider conversation
called dude   youre a cassette with a napalm heart
my stick is on the edge of your bowl
& were making this dead bird   music    a sort of halfpublic
type yes   Do you still think in suburb?
I like to imagine you as a great constellation of vapor,
the mist in the shitty vistas of being
in hiding, where is tenure, where quivers
a little metal horse
whose holes you load with money

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Jacob Sunderlin received an MFA from Purdue University and a poetry fellowship from the Fine Arts Work Center in Provincetown, MA. His work appears or is forthcoming in Colorado Review, Cream City Review, Forklift Ohio, Narrative, Ploughshares, and other magazines. He works full-time writing "how-to" articles.