Cheat Codes

Jason Gordon

the pillow swallows the head

but the mind with its tentacles

of blue light rests on a nest

of crumpling un-crumpling poems

or it sits on the TV and stares at

the tree growing out of the sofa

it doesn’t wear pants it can’t

think or hum songs from the 80s

too much not enough

synthesized drums

too asleep too awake

it can’t decide


I won’t look in the mirror my reflection

is a vampire with acne and prescription sunglasses

he stays up all day writing poems about nothing he’s not

my mirror image he will never taste lobster

dipped in blood or bend his fork into a bracelet

for you to re-gift like his heart covered in flies


can you turn off your breasts they’re cold

they burn my tongue I can’t talk on the phone

or leave silent messages like empty

bottles in the sea like love or hate poems

in my heart your nipples on fire red sky

at night blue moon at noon


the sky is dead

no seeds in the glass

cubes of its teeth

an endless landscape of hiccups

the occasional iceberg

of sunlight taps on the window

oh blank dance of clouds

the porch is on fire

the milk strings of your guitar

shatter on the roof