Artifacts of Reference, No. 42

“Hi, Joanna”

Stairway selfie like a god damned teenager. #transmillennial #help

A photo posted by joseph m. gerace (@bogotahorrible) on


Hi, Joanna. How have you been?
I’m well. You look well — I’m
Happy to hear you use that word.
Good. Good. Well, anyway, I’m

Concerned about your voice.
No, specifically the way you recite.
It’s … troubling. You appear snakelike
And arrested, harmless. That’s not the way.

It’s not. I wouldn’t say “short of breath”
Exactly. Let’s call it, Forked-god. Please,
Calm down. I’m going to ask you
A couple of questions about your sexual history. Is that OK?

You switch back and forth between — please,
Correct me if I’m wrong — between
Subject and solitude. That’s to say:
Radical loneliness and decimation. Correct?

Masturbation may be part of it, but I’m speaking
Broadly about a timeline of sexual partners:
Moon-god, Ocean-sent, Stoic-antler. Relevant?
Of course. Its right here on your chart, Joanna:

“Five-three, phenotypically retroussé nose,
Tumescent pout, cosmetically rebellious.”

So, why this affected staccato when you read?

Wikipedia Poem, No. 52

Scene 1


    scene A 
“He tied her past me, first what I need” When 
  are your face When 
you’ve got an autopsy 
         to the 
      attorney Or 
          found there’s a business board?”
His old 
      man’s eyes landed back and listened to botch “But…
find the 
        checkered patter of time
     Someone else will die and 
          slit her.” 
         More smoke in my 
        eyes from across 
his overgrown 
        business measures dash 
         by Fingers dully on 
  then… you what  I 
never killed back and slit her 
          remains Don’t secure 
         the attorney Call 
me and stopper 


      stared past me to botch “But…
tell your 
face when.”