and what am I supposed to say to that?
don’t you know you are the pulp of me?
why didn’t you tell me you were beneath
the bark of the white birch tree across
from kindergarten? I would’ve kept peeling.
I would’ve opened my eyes in the corner
where I pressed my nose as punishment.
My mother put me in the corner every time
I found a new language to ask for you.
You were the corner and the crime and somewhere
in the creases of my knuckles stacked in church.

You are flight UA 442 this Friday.
I thought if I kept doing this,
taking Adderall, sitting in the back of Mutiny,
writing poetry about you, that you would get
here quicker. I was right. It’s Wednesday.
It’s happening this way, the way it always would,
the way the stranger sitting beside me making
a business call in this bookshop was always going
to be the man I briefly lived my life beside.
Isn’t it funny how we all fall into the same
category as the pulp, as the juice, as the
fruit fresh from the tree, so sweet and
messy you can’t touch your phone;
of metaphor, of moment,
sunlight whirlwinding mist in our vision

Jeff Stonic is a multi-form artist living and creating in Denver, CO. A graduate of Butler University’s creative writing program, his stand-up comedy takes him to perform across the country and locally with the renowned show: The Bi-Agenda. His poetry chapbooks have sold more than 500 copies in their first six months. He appears in the upcoming Netflix original series How to Build a Sex Room. Lastly, and tastefully, he boasts of all of this and more on Instagram: @jeffandtonic.

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