Shower Objects on Thanksgiving Morning at the Bottom of the Bender
5-htp and the afterglow of acid and a conversation
with my father, who drove 600 miles to see me,
berry shandy on the beer shelf, argan oil, a lucky discount
from my mother the last time she came, mustafa ozkent
in the sink, the record, the receipt, the player
balanced on the tile, the sun
coming through the window, the first time i’ve been
clean in daylight or awake enough to know the difference,
a second use towel, six month old scrub, still works, that’s still just fine,
my bleary eyes, my ears, my gut, this stupid happy mouth,
my soul split open by the light, circling and going out down through
the pipes, the empty drain, the dirty shower snake,
the sober man, the drunk, and me.
the neverending semester
bless these fist fight friends,
the astroturf, the pool,
young white boys who got too high,
forgot their medications,
got sober in the parking lot
talking to a cop and narrowly
making a universal wish,
sharing cigarettes on the lawn,
and shouting “fuck yeah!”
at the passing cars in our suburbia,
not knowing why
but happy to be drunk and not alone.
that’s what we call the end of the road,
eating shit on a scooter,
twice, because we wouldn’t slow down,
commiserating with amsterdam
poured carelessly into our wounds,
forgetting why we had to in the first place.
look up at that.
you’ve won, if only just enough.
Sour Patch Kids
“I don’t know why I like them so much,”
“but I’ve been eating them for months.”
She puts another boy in her mouth,
speaks with an occupied tongue.
“I just can’t stop,”
and the hardness rattles against her teeth.
Adrian Belmes is a trans, gay, Jewish Ukrainian poet and book artist residing currently in San Diego. He is a senior editor for Fiction International, editor in chief of Badlung Press, and vice president of State Zine Collective. He has been previously published in SOFT CARTEL, Philosophical Idiot, and elsewhere. You can find him at adrianbelmes.com or @adrian_belmes.