ham-fist bones

Adam Soldofsky

little morning bird
the fuck up

in your time of day
screwed up little
window person

that’s why no one
talks to you
two things

can be true
at once
if you know

what i mean
i’m speaking
from the heart

from my ass
it is truly a pleasure
all mine

and an honor
to approach the horrors
of life with you

this way
you are too indulgent
of me

thank you
let it be
our little secret

we can build
an understanding
on the premise

of mutual

a bonding exercise
would help

take up what you consider
an unflattering picture
of yourself

(i have mine)
now ask yourself
are you ready

to love this person
don’t answer that
with something prepared

bear with me
as i lick a battery

now the build up
at the corners of my mouth

to make sense
we are accelerating
toward the realization

that nothing
in the world
can take your place

which is ultimately
of no value to you
who want only to

and cannot forever
remain in the world
clearly one of us

is struggling
with the imperative
to identify something

called childhood
wherein one must come
to the end of wishing

i don’t care
much for that
when the extraordinary

thing I’m telling myself
disguises a practical use
i am self-betrayed

with the added result
that now i cannot be

i wish i wasn’t such a drag
i wasn’t always
(i was worse)

you can thank god
for such
lowly forms

of transcendence
they provide the model
i suppose

for something
far more grand
can you see me

having such thoughts as these
in public
it’s embarrassing

and worse
if i come into contact
with my reflection

returning to you
if i may
it is a pleasure

to think of you
in line at the taqueria
that something good

lies just ahead
despite your imaginary status
i hope you get

what you came for
even if you are no good
and neither am i


a window
will open

during which time
we will need to decide
if we are indeed interested

in being
very mature
or a fugitive

from adulthood
about the window
it is a portal

always appearing
a bit too small
to admit you

as you are
i hate this so much
first of all

as a metaphor
it is wrong
insomuch as

it belongs to the moralist
whose sex appeal
has been foreclosed upon

or at best
is merely incidental
aging appropriately

a young person
smiles kindly at you

they’d rather be dead
and that is a show
of respect


saying one thing
doing another
would it be different

if i had money
i could cease
counting on my hands

and knees
i would know then
how to pronounce

the word
and understand

the meaning of
mixed company
not broaching

certain subjects
is a form of confession
of this i am aware

and that i would enjoy
playing a game
of three-card monty

in which my fate
is never revealed
like feeling stupid

an entire day
about something you said
before deciding

you don’t care

you are stupid
but at least
you have come

to some agreement
meeting you
i place myself

in interpersonal jeopardy
you are included
in my destiny

i am included
in whatever substitute term
you prefer to describe

the entire
web of coincidence
linking all phenomena

now there is no end
to the harm
we can do each other

before we part ways
but most likely
the worst that will happen

is someone
will say something

and this
will come
as a relief


i’m getting wasted
things are going
very well

i have discovered
all there is to discover
until tomorrow

when i will once again
be rudely propositioned
by the kind of energy

one can see
someone who knows
what they are doing

is so attractive
while they are doing it
it is almost enough

to give me second thoughts
about despising
such a person

and never telling them so
it is enough
to drive a person

into the arms
of the great outdoors
can i help you

i’m just looking
for someone
who will say to me

a grown man
you are truly

something else
do you realize
you are driving me insane

which means
i’ve been paid attention
is this not proof

that i exist
no doubt
a gentle expanse

of pine groves
beneath blue mountains
the prey animals

moving over the ground
like little machines
that fear death

all of it
beyond doubt
knows what it’s doing


you enter
the revolving door
i enter

the revolving door
we are strangers
no more

we are united
in our cause
this is fellowship

and i never want to leave
but apparently
you do

how can you
abandon me
like this

you have changed
so much
in the time

i have known you
i have never felt such

go then
in the light jacket
of your wickedness

never again
will you meet
a soul so pure


i woke up
the world
was a color wheel

of painful remorse
my thoughts have worked
against me


so beautiful
i cannot begin

to tell you
sort of a

model of god
it doesn’t exactly
fill me

with confidence
wishing i were younger
and someone else

never gets old
should this person
ever appear

they will receive
a standing ovation
like jesus christ

very nice
it is a small miracle
when you are deemed

perfectly acceptable
you are redeemed
when you sleep

you are gentle and mild
but it all goes out
the window


centuries of unrest
gather beneath your eyes
you are trailing

a fine new dust
making a face
difficult to countenance

if ever properly reassured
i fear
i would collapse

into your arms
i want to avoid
yet another

period of reflection
in plain air
i resemble

a joke
that must not land
the sun

reminds me of my faults
it is my fault
if i don’t enjoy it

it is your prerogative
to endeavor
to become

under the sun


why is everyone
so boring
and stupid

god thought
maybe i’m just
having a bad day

the struggle for power
is so boring and stupid
and people look

even when they are not
having sex

i hope you know
and giving up

are not the same
as long as they remain

a person
may have adventures

in the space between
but back to my job
dancing seductively

among the too numerous
doom scenarios

even if the world explodes
i want to be found

until the final moment
by my very presence
i am asking

do you like me
do you want me
to go away


i am rooting for you
and against

i do not stand a chance
no matter what i do
i cannot summon

the powerful djinn
inside my phone
it knows my wishes

there is no wishing
for fewer

and yet a total stranger
tells me to
have a good day

and inexplicably
i do
it lasts and lasts

despite all my suspicion
i begin to wish
for a delayed resolution

regarding pleasure
it occurs to me
i am running

a confidence game
what i want
i cannot

until i have it
at which point

can be trusted
on and on like that

until i think
about the dog’s
Adam Soldofsky is the author of Memory Foam (poems) and Telepaphone (a novella).