Back to Issue Eighteen.

threesome with personism


Let all the different bodies
fall where they may, ringing round the rosie,
ashes to ashes et cetera—

Time stops for no man
but it will pause for three, nothing metaphysical about it,
just a trick of being touched

in every place at once,
landing Lucky Pierre style in the center
of attention. To be vied for, divided at last

 between two persons:
technique on the one hand, content on the other.
To be the means

of your camaraderie,
latest point in a line passing between friends.
A pastime. You’ve got nostalgia

              for the infinite and I’ve got
a finger on your nerve, evoking overtones of love
without destroying
the mood.

Now you are speaking
to each other through me—quicker and surer
a game of telephone, names misremembered

and mispronounced.
It’s like Frank says: Nobody should experience
anything they don’t need to

so I had to invent a life
to write, equal parts “yearning” and vulgarity,
half tears, half refreshment.

Better than the movies,
a day in which I was in love and between it.
What can we expect? 

we won’t.

Jameson Fitzpatrick’s poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The AwlBuzzFeed ReaderPoetryPrelude, and elsewhere. He is the author of the chapbook Morrisroe: Erasures (89plus/LUMA Publications) and teaches writing at New York University.

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