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ADELAIDE Independent Bimonthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Bimensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 

 

 

THE FORREST
By Omar Alexandre

 

 

 

 

you can look and you can touch

 

a guy gave me head today
and my next door neighbor saw us

his fingers gripped
tightly unto my thighs

i felt the top of his head
touch my stomach
it was sweaty

his lips wrapped around my dick
and his tongue going in circles

i left the blinds open and i honestly don't care

the president once again proved today why he isn't fit to lead

but no one honestly gives a shit

so i play an LCD Soundsystem record
on a Wednesday evening

and i dance and keep dancing

and wonder why the girl
in my poems doesn't want to fuck me

i'm bored and lonely
but mostly bored and lonely
so i prepare the table and make
peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
for uninvited guests

 

 

 

 

 

an aubade courting insanity

 

its 3:09 in the morning and i have a sudden urge to drown in your chaos
i hear the wind calling out your cries

an aubade courting insanity

it's 3:10 in the morning and i have a sudden urge to dance with your waves
an early morning sortie into your catastrophic nothingness

your blank page shines brightly
and it's indomitable

so i relinquish all fight
for you make me tenuous

it's 4 in the morning and this perennial urge won't go away

 

 

 

 

 

They Cray

 

She told me her vagina is like Christmas in a taco shop 
So I reached for my Wenger Swiss Army Knife, ripped my chest open and instantly gave her my heart
We're in a relationship now but not really 
She does her thing and I do mine 

i.e. she drinks mojitos all day and trains her cat to murder her next door neighbor's rooster because it doesn't have any concept of time and when the neighbor shows up with the dead rooster and accuses her cat she'll respond, "well maybe you shouldn't have food as fucking pets!" 

I write her poems and tell her how much I've missed her 
She says she only misses flip phones 

I tell her I suffer from anxiety so she lets me touch her boobs for fifteen minutes 

Then we drift and go back to doing our own thing 

i.e. She drinks more mojitos and reads Simone de Beauvoir's 'Le Deuxième Sexe' and texts me in the middle of the night to tell me, "He bled for our sins but I bleed every month, tell me who's the real motherfucking Jesus?!" 

I lay in bed disoriented and confused staring at my bright white screen and simply text back, "down?"

She replies, "sure." 

 

 

 

 

 

 

untitled

 

I died a long time ago on the eastern coast
abducted from silence and placed in the middle of a five pm traffic
surrounded by apes pretending to know
what they're doing behind a steering wheel

time advances and the months get marked off
the crows take turns ripping into my flesh
and I allow my bones to rot for a simple yet incoherent pleasure 

the wild man with a sad face who has been pushed away to the outskirts sees the sky mourn and writes a song about it 

And the girl that never texted back and dreams of becoming a star
comes to her senses and rides off to the desert searching for a lost promise
a dirty lost treasure 

I come back from the dead after hearing the sad man's song and being rescued by the girl

And I find transparency within all the trash
and fall deeply in love 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Forrest

 

this magic place 
which holds life and laughter 
under blue skies, 
amongst fractured minds, 
rainy afternoons, 
and its tenderly sad unknowns 
i find a world 
which burns brightly 
like floating dancers in pointe shoes
giving air to the sorrows 
heard through a lonely man's instrument

 

 

 

 

About the Author:

omar

Omar Alexandre lives in Miami, Florida. He is an aspiring writer/filmmaker who recently completed his first short film and one of his music videos will be screened during the 16th annual Miami Short Film Festival. His poems have been published in In Between Hangovers, Your One Phone Call, and Juste Milieu. Follow him on Instagram @alexandre88.

 

 

 




 




 

 

 

     
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