jacob seferian – 2 poems

Everybody’s Doin a Brand New Dance
 
Slouching towards rehab
                           if an old man were to shout,
                           That’s showbiz!
                           A clown for the people
                           a champion of human spirit—
                           you understand?
Nose hairs and sun spots I want it all
and waves of wrinkles. I’ve been having nightmares:
                           Hope As Propaganda
it’s terrifying stuff.
 
I’ve been surrendering to excess
                           genetic gifts leaking
                           (poetic like)
dead set on wasting my time: my boss and I
                           a shitty threesome (nobody nuts!)
                           which is to say that none of this
                           feels like a gift such as resilient cheekbones
                           or Old Age!

Tomorrow, junkie blues & sour sounds
mediocre B-Side, pull back
and start from the top:
                                         dance rigidly to the tune of temperance
                                         Eve wouldn’t have bit the apple were
                                         there no tree, ya hear


Open to Close

I saw a kid whispering into his Apple Watch; God has left us with Jane Goodall on TikTok and so-and-so’s ADHD cock and what’s-his-name’s autistic lungs catching short breaths on tall buildings with free WiFi and Bluetooth mics broadcasting a GoFundMe in saddle boots in a city in a tenement on a Sunday with a vote sticker and biblical boils and an appointment at the Chelsea clinic followed by a Hinge date over five glasses of California wine leave a 22% tip for the former barista who works at the newspaper reviewed blog favorite NeoEthnoVegan eatery with a line out the door of hungry diners their veneers chattering in the cold which will be a bitch when the former Depop aficionado commutes home to their boyfriend no girlfriend no partner no four roommates with fentanyl roaches and a sink full of plastic dishes that pile like snoozed Prozac alarms or elusive orgasms all to take the train again in the morning and dodge suspended COVID kids running up the left side of the staircase who make up new words for old things ignoring the shouts of genocidal rail conductors just to sit on a public transit pew on the way to a job today or tomorrow and you ask me what is wrong sike there is a sick happy hour in purgatory big smiles long email finding you well, I hope!


JACOB SEFERIAN is a writer living in New York City. His work has appeared in several magazines, online and in print. 


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