Transmissions

2 Poems

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.

 

he’s

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.

 

 

personal practice

 

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

over.

 

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.