Dodo Eraser

The Butcher’s Mistress

so much has happened since my last letter
the MFA discussion, for one
Bridgerton, the spectral disco of Charlotte Gainsbourg 
burning a 500-franc note on the record player, 
the wealthy scrambling to leave Dubai

Dear Cinnette, whether or not the fruit 
of repentance is worth the pilgrimage, idk
I want to reimagine the world
as a choose your own adventure —Lake 
or Beach house     I want to barbecue 

with the butcher’s mistress     I want to say
“Listen!”     midway through the poem 
and watch it spiral into a larger conflict. Yes,
leave the door open for boots on the ground: 
blouson dorés, Royal Javelins, Flaming Skulls—

Dear Cinnette, there’s no transition 
from futuristic costumes to medieval robes.
My romantic past lingers in the air. 
I guess that’s why I’m getting into ballet. 
Love on the beat     head over heels

Radio Masts

All this talk about craft
inspiration
controlled demolition, 
windexed language versus 
stained glass language (Barthes, 1984)
and now I’m 
crying in Wing Yip 
Home Depot
the Dollar Tree in Mechanicsburg. 
Are you thinking about logic or your sins
Me—
I found a pocket of resistance. 
I’ve been eating in bed all week,
the snow falling like 
disintegration loops, 
the watchmen of the gods 
blowing Gjallarhorn across broken 
radio masts. 
Maybe I’ll start a Substack. 
Maybe I’ll finally declare my love
to that Romanian poet. 

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Damon Hubbs is a poet from New England. Recent publications include Burning House Press, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Literary Underground, Revolution John, The Gorko Gazette, and others. His latest collection, Bullet Pudding, is forthcoming from Roadside Press. He is a poetry editor at Blood+Honey and The Argyle Literary Magazine.