94Pu :: ¡ F L U X !
{i’m a t c a p a c i t y}
BY ROSEBUD BEN-ONI
Don’t call it returning. In all known timelines, the trinity
is Made. In America &. Heavy & thirsty for gravitational. Pulls &
drugstore transuranic, surely no. Rick. & Morty making like a tree, no
meddling without Doc & Marty (¡404 :: Eric. Stoltz glitch!), & nowhere near. Truth
or. Consequence, or Northern. Ireland’s bat-winged timecars that promised
to run. On refuse & some. Kind of wonderful I’m glad it was you, Michael J. Marty
McFox & your orange life vest & my mismatched socks, us two skaters hitchhiking
on sheer lightning, longing for a tower to strike. Where I’ve gone,
roads too took so much from my body & only rogues like us
could make Einstein disappear just
to bring him back, since no we all weren’t ready
but the kids, they
will ask why some music blitzed & seethed, burn
-ing endless shadows into unsuspecting streets.
85At :: Obsession You’re My—:: freak with me
BY ROSEBUD BEN-ONI
The most 80s! That ever (you want me to be) :: I vaporize instantly
if seen. Roll up your bills, ready razors, mirror & a. Key. Miserable
to make & a lot of hell to take, I’m. Rarest to. Arise. Naturally.
Get me cheap
motel. Pontiac Fiero & wads of fifty. 3 AM ATM Tuesday
morning. Your walk of shame, my. Runway. In a space
suit, ripped {who. DO.} mullet {WANT} jeans &. Nothing.
Gets betweenmy calvins & {:: me to be—:: } I’m the original Girls
Just Wanna, so. Many Desperately. Seeking. Identities. Call
me Alabamine, call me. Dakin. Scream Dorine,
gag me with Helvetium. Cause I should
be a child of 85, but it’s giving
wannabe isotopes & purely me
orbits only your naked dreams—