poem: the queen’s gambit

midnight in the sixties, girl comes
alive: narcotic smile between cigarette
smoke and are you finished yet? oh,
that is what it’s supposed
to feel like, don’t stop.

she is

tight, squares, cocaine.
madness in my blood like a mother,
the psychosis hanging
and fucking, dressed to drink,
conquer, la femme fatale.

the usual themes: what am
i? what is family? and who makes
the divisions. say it in russian,
say rook-to-queen-seven, say
it fast and pretend pretend.

let’s pretend, we are all

this girl, riding young americana
fuck fuck the soviets, heritage,
fathers. the aesthetic
of self-destruction, failure;
waking up alone, in the carnage
of only you and the alcohol,
opioids, other
things; i am not

sure of this eternity but
when she tips her head, smiles
we are all progressing.
insanity is such, he thinks,
smoking smoking flicking
his fingers around the queen,
a moving piece,
a mirror.



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