(#14) On conversations.

Prompt: a poem in dialogue form

I wish this conversation didn’t make me want to fucking kill myself
What is their job, anyway?
They sound like photographers but they’re whipping their portfolios out like dicks
For the life of me I can’t tell if there’s a client in this scenario.
I think I’m going to try to connect to a different one.
I think I’m going to try to connect.
I googled “ambivalence in”
Sentences came up.
Dictionary, finally, in relationships.
I found an article.
I went to the bathroom and googled, “how to hang yourself for a shirt,”
Until I realized there was a furry collective meeting in the back room of this Panera.
How fucking tragic to die,
How fucking tragic to potentially be found by an older man with curly hair in a dog collar
wrapped in a bandana clutching a Dungeons & Dragons manual
“As far as your major, specific, like, I could just tell you, specifically, what you want to know, how?
She’s got different colors.
I love different fonts.
They like the chateau theme.
Maybe they’re getting married.
Have you searched for themes before?
They’re repulsively perfect for each other.
Did you like 2012?
No, I’m more 2011.


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