I wanted to be the best at love
growing up, probably because it hurt
so badly. I wanted every girl
to need me, so I practiced my eyes
in the mirror every night before bed,
for twenty minutes. I trained them
to lock. I trained them to open
like a door does, onto whatever
that shit is squeaking inside of us.
I trained them not to be eyes at all,
so that when girls looked at me
they wondered what I was.
Lothario, Hamlet, Casanova,
James Bond, these were my heroes.
They stacked their love like counting,
it was slick, and since them, I have been
slick as well. So slick. It is gross how slick
I have been. Now, thinking, I realize
just how awful it would be to be
Eros, in the business of the heart. I would love
to talk with him, for I am sure that he is
Detroit writer and poet Ian Brown currently resides in New York City where he is receiving an MFA in poetry from the New School. Author of 3 chap books and recipient of the 2009 Jim Cash Award in Poetry, his work can be found in such places as PANK Magazine and the Best American Poetry blog.