Ben Sambrook

CLEFT

I can smell my self

I had a second phone call with the

maybe new ro ommate

I’m cramping

it might be the plan b

I got fucked tw ice and

keep thinking a bout having a

mama mia mom ent

boyfriend’s date cancelled and

it all went to hell

wish i’d want to fuck that beautiful blond

if you had told m e not to

I say the right thi ng at the wrong time

i’m cramping

sometimes happens

when i’m turned on

I wasn’t turned on I was just

lifting weights

which is also sex y

and hurts just a li ttle bit

i don’t know

if i am allowed to say that

on account of

the implication th at some bodies

are bad bodies

which is a thing

I don’t believe

but who is disal lowing anything

i am doing

these days any way

I’m a faggot no t a child

nobody can tell me what to write

in my poems

or what to eat

I imagine my m other

to be saying that thing

she didn’t actual ly say

in her defense all she said

this time was

will they take the whole thing out?

I took plan b at 7 2 hours

instead of 48 hou rs

so I could take an other load and

you could watch a nd press him

into me

I thought

why can’t I feel it

some people hav e scars that haven’t

lightened yet or w on’t

I think I want som e more

that is a disgustin g thing to say

but I haven’t said it

i’ve just written it

I let my brother g o

to Tennessee

we were in the m iddle

of a dark street in shaftsbury vermont

and he was bleed ing very slightly

from his hands

the car was bent l ike a

tin thing

the airbag was wh iter

than I thought it w ould be

I didn’t call anyone

we took him to the hospital

we got stopped in the

dark downtown of bennington vermont

for having one hea dlight out

he looked sick like a

bug under a very

bright light

by the river I said t o you

we might have nev er broken up

and I am thankful t hat

I am a homosexual

you say I like anal

in a voice that mea ns

i do not like anal


COUPLET

i want to

believe

in a

rarified

form

above

you

a halo of

fruit flies

o to

soften

like the

imperfect

pepper

at the

bottom

of my

fridge

I like

what is

prohibitiv

ely

unreprod

ucible

i like your

eyes

best of

all


your wound

in the shape

of a C

of a bite

of a moon

she has

a plate I

made

when I

was two

I’m

cutting

back the

bitterswe

et in her

connecti

cut back

yard

back

then I washed

the

clams

while

sitting in

the sink


today I am unnerved

by my own appetite

I used to

fit


I place

the slices

of pool noodle

over the sharp

edge of

the trellis

neon

green cheerios

at eye

height







it feels odd


to travel

the bulk

aisle with you

to say

my

cinnamo

n

our old

domestic

vocabula

ry

inside

the

compost

— a

whole

fillet

squashe

d

delicata

don’t you

love

when

the picture of you looks a little like me

I see

your shin bone

glossy beneath

the

gauze

I missed

the part where

they

closed

you up

only one

guest

allowed

in

emergen

cy

I am not

your

guest

I am

outside ordering

calbacita

s

I watch skateboa

rders and think

if i really wanted

to

I could

do that






I

remembe

r jack

all cut up beneath

the car

and

wanting

—

boyishly

— to

press

somethin

g of mine

to

somethin

g of his

I

remembe

r jack

all cut up beneath

the car

and

wanting

—

girlishly

— to

press

everythin

g of mine

to somethin

g of his

I see

your

trellis

slices of

pool

jack

rolling off

the top

of the car

absence

of



calbacita

s

today I

wasn’t

like you

a

little

imperfect

an old

direction

a room

for two


maybe

while you

were getting stitched

the moon missed

me

he

walked

himself

home I

wanted

to clean

his pants

off with

my

tongue

like this

are you

looking

I wanted

to watch

the hole

on my

own

don’t I

love

calbacita

s

I felt like

the

second

to last lighthous

e keeper

at the

last

lighthous

e

at the

end of

the world

I would

like to

have everyone

’s

primary thought

about me

be that I

am good

in the

produce

aisle

trailing

like your

guest


in a forest of

fruit

I see your

shin

I see your

shit

peaking out

my appetite


for

skateboarder

s

matt with

dickies below the waistline

and connor

with his black

nails


I needed something of me

back

I liked your eyes — trellis — compost — I was not best

of all

you weren’t at the part yet

where I wanted you to be


her direction — unnerved —

ordering



Ben Sambrook writes poems as homo praxis in Northampton, MA. You can find part of him @ben_sambrook