By Isaiah Hull

60 Seconds Exercise
M – She was
F – How old?
M – Beautiful
F – About your age?
M – And her eyes were like
F – Black girl?
M – No
F – Have you written about her yet?
M – I always do
F – My phone is dying
M – Why does it always end?
F – I’m asking the questions here
M – Then find a charger
F – Life is rather strange this year
M – I’ll put it in layman’s terms
F – 2%
M – Her face was something Rumi said
F – My charger’s broken
M – “The heart is…”
F – I hate quotes
M – Yeah so do I
F – What did she look like?
M – She looked right through me like my mother’s womb was poltergeist
F – You’re doing it again
M – I’m 100% sure of it
F – I’m on 1%
M – About a minute left?

I fish for poems with my head in the barrel of a revolver.
The spring was pronounced dead
but I stood at the back of the funeral pyre
with the toothiest smile
threw tinder in the mouth
smells of nude women and blue ginger coming out of it
his spouse was drinking gasoline
while I was inking masterpiece
into the open skin of tangerine and mandarin
and her hands were thin,
thin enough that when her fist was closed
it looked as if a match was lit underneath an English rose
her groin was dark like Ethiopes
or lobes of ears, listen close
coke and rum
I wish I’d sobered up
I live off stolen blood
I sit alone on islands and drink from coconuts
I can’t be
the only one
my wrist married with a mirror’s edge
silver wealth
but grip the golden gun

I died on the front row of a cinema
for a film I was late to see
of make-believe
squeezing maple syrup out of maple leaves
I died on stage of a film set
they clapped for an encore
but I was tired of the actor’s life
I am ugly face and bad advice
and new-born babies over candlelight
I’m sensitive
like Palestine
blood will hang like stalactites
in ruby caves
or sugar hills

or salt mines
my arms are bleeding
it’s getting hard to breathe
I dream about the stars as much as Archimedes
I know my head will roll as the credits do
the grim reaper whispers “rent is due”
I am eleven years from twenty-two
I am foolish folly
without ‘Uni knowledge’
I am Louis Vuitton to Zuni rockets
I’m profusely sorry
I wear death like
terminal illnesses wear down the integrity of the human body