Dear Newton,
My lover can uncrack eggs and promises
there’s no such thing as being alone.
He tells me need gives us identity,
asks to brush my hair. Is there no end
to his useful advances?
Dear Lindsay,
You are full of faulty
reflections, you lack
certain light.
Dear Newton,
Lately, I don’t wear anything
under my blazer. The voice in my head
calls for loud music, red gum,
sex at the oddest hours. Will the moon
always have such a dramatic effect
on my pants?
Dear Lindsay,
It is a circle of confusion.
You are not really suffering.
Dear Newton,
Disturbing trends. The silence
after I scream is so different
from the one just before. I don’t
mind the pain, I just want someone
who can make me laugh
at least one time per day.
Dear Lindsay,
A year’s worth of scientific observation
might record no more than a single
astronomical phenomena.
Recalibrate expectations.
Dear Newton,
If fresh starts don’t matter, what does?
Could I stop being everything that turns
at the sound of my name?
Could I be the kind of planet
that holds a better one inside?
Dear Lindsay,
If you’re counting planets
and one looks like two—
you’ve blown it.
Lindsay Doukopoulos
www.juked.com
Beautiful in the Mouth
Keetje Kuipers