They say it’s a matter of attrition.
Cut to / a caravan of sand carried by vehicles, couples racing toward the sun. They’ve driven for so long that the horizon is now their god, heterosexual the altar piece. Chemistry / their borrowed electrons, from and by, in the process of synthesis—children, compulsory futures, drugs to escape the two. And we call them parents, or soon-to-be: flat bellies hoping for a reaction / with dust in their eyes. Crystalline, these expectant formations in recession. In their heads they’re extracting psychedelics from morning glory seeds. Crushing another, accidentally / on purpose, with eyes tilted away from heaven and locked tight into the swaddling cloth of their skulls. Baby, crack the window open. Baby, eat your forebearers at death’s door. Baby, bring us ego death or death in choring, from rushing over ourselves to get through life. We’ve got enough bud to last us the week or so—and when my paycheck comes through / we’ll only have our mouths to feed. A thinning of the herd. Sinking deeper into self. There are no more reckonings here / as we let evolution guide us toward each other.
KORBIN JONES is a Pushcart-nominated writer who graduated from Northwest Missouri State University with degrees in Writing and in Spanish, and is currently pursuing his MFA in Poetry at the University of Kansas. His translation of Pablo Luque Pinilla’s poetry collection, SFO: Pictures and Poetry about San Francisco, was published by Tolsun Books (2019). His debut collection of poetry, songs for the long night., was published by QueerMojo (2019) and was nominated for a Lambda Literary Award in Gay Poetry. His debut chapbook, MOONSICK, was released by Finishing Line Press (2020). He works as editor-in-chief and head designer for Fearsome Critters.
