the publishers clearing house 5,000 dollars a week for life sweepstakes
if there’s one boy i dream about a lot, it’s pat sajak.
but he’s always in mortal danger, holding a giant novelty check
for $5,000 made out in my name. the ancestor to hundreds more checks
for $5,000 made out in my name; polyps from a shared grandma.
anyway, he’s dying.
he’s in the academy of music ballroom and everything’s on fire.
i’m supposed to swing on a chandelier, and sweep him up,
and kiss him, and mobile deposit a giant check
for $5,000 made out in my name.
covered in bees.
he’s crawling in a ballpit of hypodermic needles.
he’s lying very still
in a hospital bed, holding my cash prize in the full span
of his chicken wing arms.
have you ever been the whole audience to a performance of yourself?
you: pouring salt and oil into the bath / popping like a champagne cork
you: steeping your human body and dried flowers
you: a steaming leg against the faucet
maybe the whole dance is a séance /
a ouija board where you conjured up every man
who ever fell in ad hoc love with a facet of my physicality–
any phrase of gestures choreographed on a length
of meat. maybe you feel all the intimacy again, and match
your pulse to the one in the memory of the last time you felt
like someone wasn’t fucking you
i can find something to cry about in almost every performance.
drowning out a recording of a love supreme with my warm
about-to- cry face, i fell in love with 900 decomposed futures
i matched with on tinder.
ok like 600 of them.
zach blackwood is a queer black poet and contemporary performance curator in philadelphia, pa. he has poems published or forthcoming in peach magazine, metatron, bedfellows magazine, and tenderness, yea. he lives with a beautiful dog named pig. follow @blackwhom for pig pics.