Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

Some Truths Do Not Set Us Free

<  The Commune

Effie and Jim  >

by Samuel Cole

 

I bring a Wednesday slump

to the Dunn Bros. caffeine

 

chase on 26th Street, order a

hot caramel latte with extra

 

whipped cream. Extra hot. Extra shot.

Tables infused with eye-candy hunks who

 

prattle alongside an automaton-bean-

crunch-machine that’s always turned on.

 

It’s Lavender days, a mag for us

gays, The Wedding Issue, page 34—

 

Johnnie and Trent united at last as

equal and blast—lucky-ass fags—

 

page 35 and 36 elevate daydreams

to heartstrings, though I am in doubt.

 

Page 37 drags me to the

depth of two bowties

 

—I see you gave him your name—

 

11 photographs by Jenny Inc!

4 lips kissing beneath my willow tree.

 

3 orchid bundles centering my picnic table.

2 matching rings slicing as 1 my Pink

 

Champagne cake from The Salty Tart.

Faces I once dreamt were smiling for us.

 

Piled on gifts tied with unified ribbons

and bows keeps me from looking away.

 

 

To disengage. To get on, or off, at the end.

 

published 21 September 2016