a night at the substation
i. civil realities
behold sludging up the desert
boulevard a bus with its sole passenger
the governor signs one final order
in the 1600s german clerics
reported fits of crystal rain or lied
official agents distribute benzos
as mandate rather than pressure
wounds to congeal who waters the virile
potted palm in condemned apartment
halls some fibrous buzz between us
some crucial buoyed bridge whose
function hinges on decisions of tide
we have chances to slow the car
but submit only rolling stops
lurching you wish annihilation
could be a breeze just to accept
exploded glass wrapped steel
around you instead the clouds
pummel disgust prompt recoil
like a hand brushing fresh gum
under diner counter don’t spill
the mug don’t spook the possum
snoops near inner ears each
day breeds new kinds of sobbing
saddle distance from one
regret to the next and let
ginger burn the calloused
lunge of a coward’s tongue
ii. a day at the beaches
you breed no shame in summer
approaching but fleshy organs
share few deadlines installation
of cameras sentinelling bridges
foments insurance where wreck
meets pylon occasional diver
trawls for submerged damage
the stuff of candid confession
reads like sheet music for the blind
at least he smells placid tonight
you bend down for a sip
the fountain offers its stream of ants
arcing up to lips what luck
you have your cruelest dreams
behind the high-voltage generator farm
visions of youth as mere
sorority in fear of middle age’s
boisterous virus of insufficiency
these automatons these toddlers
scoop sand in the vicinity of buried i.e.d.s
your home no poison for the uninvited doom
bather faints while lifeguard hops
trains to escape the carnival harbor
one timed mine to crumble each trestle
underside of flipped stone heart
sudden barrenness of moss
your ease marred by dead effort but luckily
you’re light on your knees
iii. dinosaur hunter
you want to be cybernetic
a phantom subscriber streaming
the opera you can get behind that
you chug bitcoin for breakfast
grease it with ricin your landscape
ashes mapped in arachnid veins
hide your wallet from the price
gouging bees turned husks
i am the one true motorway you say
good riddance to false debuts
you validate your precious red
questions under urban lens of buffet
sneeze guard knowing each
moment might be lost to trauma
each following moment the inverted
umbrella to the last so be
a good listener put it in savings
androgynous mannequin you dress
like politicians disgraced
deformed in autumn sunburn
as soon as you grow your jazz
for passion just come around
you’ll find us in a garage 1998 with turok
broken joystick and sticky hands
Originally from Monterey, AJ Urquidi (he/him) is an asexual Southern California writer whose work has been featured in Faultline, Posit, and Chiron Review, among others. He is copydesk chief for Los Angeles Review of Books and an executive editor of experimental online journal indicia.
