July 10, 2010

J. Bradley

Knife Show

When I showed you how I melted
my wedding band into a bullet,
you said you liked the direction
my art was heading.

My art was a magnet
to your moral compass.
You were a knife show
sheathed in Victoria's Secret.

I wish I could have seen
the thumb prints smudging
your glassy eyes, find
all the mouths you abandoned
the pill case of your smile.

My ring finger forgets
the white gold 'I do' halo
you tamed it with. It points
away from your direction, a heading
where you won't be missed.


After we crack this cheap champagne
across the bows of our tongues,
I am ready to be your mistake.

We will kiss like passengers
without flotation devices,
hang onto the side of the bed
like a loose plank.

There's a phone number
you'll maroon me on;
I will forget how to ask
for help.

Coffee Is For Closers

There are crops of freckles
on your shoulders I want to dust
with the rickety biplane of my teeth.

I would watch you sleep
but I'm too busy holding you
like an experimental jet pack;

I hope not to explode.
When we part, I smile
like a torn strip of prints
coughed up by a photo booth.


J. Bradley is the author of Dodging Traffic (Ampersand Books, 2009) and the author of the upcoming flash fiction chapbook, The Serial Rapist Sitting Behind You Is A Robot (Safety Third Enterprises, 2010).  He is the Interview Editor of PANK Magazine and lives at iheartfailure.net.

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