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April 14, 2022

Two Poems

Coleman Bomar

Uber Eats

How do we advertise
a dusty sepulcher?

You injecting innumerable lattes
with roses
as I deliver acai bowls
to quarantined psychiatrists.

It's when ramen slips
through the needle's eye.

Why our doppelgangers
have MFAs in necromancy
but can't afford shit.

Tonight, vegan parfaits
bulge out of my freezer bag
like healthy kidneys.

Imagine we live where
I’m going: every moat filled
with crocodiles,
an unattainable mortgage.



I cannot break through imaginary glass.

Your voice is an outline etched
by my palms.

Now, every night ends in television.

Our black Doberman barks at her reflection.

She is an animal which means
less than human.

I am hairy like an animal.

You are a reflection which means
kind of dead.

I remember the words ricocheted like
grenade shrapnel.

"We'll never become our parents." 

When we first met, you were some guy with
a photogenic penis,

waiting for another Bonnaroo.