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The Jujitsu of Macking Jesse Bradley

The Red Ceilings Press

MMXI [rcp 30]

The Jujitsu of Macking Jesse Bradley

Registrar I want to make you blush so hard, your glasses fog; bookshelves will have pieces of you stuck to them. Distance is my tuition. I’ll drop out of Pantslessness 203, think of ice swans and amputees, gamble on your hands. My Halloween costume, a car crusher. You, the rust and steel in my teeth.

Rear Naked Choke I diagnosed myself with a severe crush on you. The only treatment: holding your hand and slow dancing to the sound of something random. I’ve got a brown belt in the jujitsu of macking. Your sentences get past my guard easily. When you ask me which member of the Wu-Tang Clan I’ll do it like, I’ll answer “Old Dirty Bastard”, not because I like it raw though. Being beneath you will make me loudly inarticulate.

Snidely Whiplash Waits For His Not So Blind Date I want a handlebar mustache so I can tie you to train tracks and twiddle it while you plea for mercy; I’ll save that for our twelfth date. I’ll tell my five-year-old self to make you a mix tape using his Casio keyboard. All I could give you is Tourettic digital whale moans. You are a punk rock show in a stranger’s house. I’m willing to go deaf.

Logan To Orlando, Do You Read? I want to know how you move your hands after the third glass of wine, the aftertaste of your coffee without using a cup. I’m playing limbo with future tense. I hurt my back after round two. Over the phone, we listen to each other lash ourselves to whatever we’re sitting on, wishing ‘I miss you’ was our jet fuel. I won’t see an us. I’ll just see you.

Charles Dickens Crushes On The Woman In The Sixth Row I’m throwing away the cake, cutting the molding limbs off the bride and groom. I rehabilitate my cursive, break the ankle of my alphabet. I throw open the French doors, clear the room of names and mistakes like cobwebs. I’m waiting for the day I get to work off the debt of your smile. I’ll cut holes in my pockets if I have to.

Dr. Sam Beckett Flirts With Anachronism I wasn’t born to adore you. I would grow mutton chops and find my mother’s stomach so I could tell myself I should be. You are worth neighborhoods unthreading, America still under the Queen’s protection, the Yankees never signing Babe Ruth. In this new time line, autumn begins in June. I’ll bunker myself in leaves, wait for you.

Lignin For the well being of our relationship, I should stop writing you poems. I tried painting a portrait of your profile photo. It looked like a defendant from Willy Wonka: SVU. Here is a verse from a song I wanted to play beneath your window: “Aarhahrhahrahra means I love thee, in Shyriiwook” Portable Auto-Tune, talent wasn’t in my budget. I once told myself these poems last longer than the women they’re written for. I want to be there when yours yellow in our hands.

No, I’m Not Calling you my most comforting sweater only works if you like being on my floor a lot; the rug burn would go well with my farmer’s tan. I’d steal the legs of the lead singers of The Proclaimers, study Elijah Wood as he pretends to know thirst and sacrifice. Let’s meet at the laundromat. I’ll abandon my wardrobe of names. We are mad scientists. Let’s steal each others mouths like moons.

Acknowledgments “Registrar” originally appeared in Quick Lucks. “Snidely Whiplash Waits For His Not So Blind Date”, “Logan to Orlando, Do You Read?”, “Charles Dickens Crushes On The Woman In The Sixth Row”, and “Dr. Sam Beckett Flirts With Anachronism” originally appeared in PressBoardPress.

Jesse Bradley Is the Interviews Editor of PANK Magazine. He lives at Other books by J. Bradley: Dodging Traffic (Ampersand Books, 2009) The Serial Rapist Sitting Behind You is a Robot (Safety Third Enterprises, 2010) My Hands Are As Thick As Dreams (Patasola Press, 2011) A Patchwork of Rooms Furnished by Mistakes (Deckfight Press, 2011) Bodies Made of Smoke (HOUSEFIRE, 2011) Our Hearts Are Power Ballads (Artistically Declined Press, 2011) How Esmeralda Estrus Got Her Revenge (Corrupt Press, 2011)

The Red Ceilings Press

MMXI [rcp 30] www.redceilings.

The Juijitsu of Macking  

by Jesse Bradley