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 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.
