That New Art.

That generous, considerate sharing.

That quick hit.

I wanted to partake.

To encourage its continuation.

Contribute.

So I got to jotting. Writing bars to the instrumentals that spawned em.

I couldn’t write a book but I could a bar.

And then another bar.

A bar at a time.

About all the drugs I was on.

Switching from illegal to legal ones, but no less sketch.

About how, even still, despite everything, I was still the prettiest bitch out.

About how Yes I still loved ex, had love for editor bae; but also, they could get fucked.

Yes; and but also.

Both/neither.

Once I recorded them—each under a minute, done in a single take—into my voice recorder.

I wanted to represent them, visually.

I didn’t have V around to shoot em for me, but I did have other homies.

I turned to the homies I had.

Ex-roomie bae shot the first video. In an alley, around the corner from my spot.

Single-take, mid-hang.

And roomie bae, the second. On a Lowe’s mish, for light bulbs, in the parking lot.

Ended up shooting a couple more with roomie bro at the spot he’d moved to, around the corner. Although those turned out less good.

Less interesting.

Maybe bc they weren’t shot out in the world.

Or maybe bc they reverted to the all-male, rapper-boy zone, like from before. From college.

Felt less giddy. Less light.

Weighed down by the seriousness of the boy-flex.

More interesting when I held the bars up to the bae-light.

2

THE OLE MAN

Feast of St. Michael & All Saints 2018

Walking back from my Medicaid-covered dental school appointment, where I’d gotten that new grill fitted.

Rubbing my tongue over my new, temporary molars, grinning like What’s good bruh! to everyone I passed.

Finally able to chew again since, a week ago, not wanting to waste the last of a week-old baguette roomie bae bought.

Captain save-a-loaf.

Since torching that shit in the toaster, lathering it with grass-fed butter, and chomping tf out of it, before…

You already know.

Other molar straight snapped.

Like Fuck the other side.

Had been merking smoothies and smoothies only all week.

Hitting my tooth chasms with one of those lil toothpicks with a pointy side and a brush side.

The pointy side too pointy.

Like a goddamn lil dagger.

So every now and then just blasting my gums.

Fkng bleeding out…

But now.

Feeling hype about the new chompers.

Too hype!

So damn hype that I went Know what? I’m finna call the ole man.

Then I FaceTime called the ole man.

I hadn’t spoken to him in some months.

It was midmorning my time, evening his.

I hadn’t heard from him since, right when my skin had started spazzing, he’d emailed me about this thing Urinary Therapy: