By Lee Levinson
Winter 2020 | Poetry
You were all invited to the gender reveal of my knives.
Cake was the only family to attend.
I shattered glass terrariums upon personalized placards.
Cursed the gods of snacks for taking so long to brand themselves woke.
The realtor I hired sent condolences in swathes of corporate regalia.
I placed printer cartridges up my urethra to piss contractual smiles.
“We’re sorry you feel”, the rest auto-tuned within 24-48 hours.
I took advantage of the rented trampoline by learning how to stay fucking put.
The nude who jumped from my hollowed out cake accused escalators of putting stairs out of
Lee Levinson is currently at work on a novel detailing the many uses of cellophane. His monomania is archived in tweets @schlock_jaw..
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