Frenching with a mouthful of M&M’s dunno if
I feel polluted
or into it – the lights go low across the
multiplex Temple of
canoodling and Junk food A collision of corn
dog bites and
chunky salsa to achieve a spiritual escape velocity
Why am I in
this cup holder? B/c yr bubbly, dummy But I feel squeeze cheese
uneasy In Fagootland coupling is at best
delicate precarious &
rarefied Eggshells At worst, a snipe hunt Love
in the time of
climate change Should I be nervous? No, it’s
too dark in here
for that There’s light and ascreen & our
moon faces, reflecting
This is an epic, dummy
Get yr muse
Hail Janet Jackson, patron
saint of Eternal Utility but Selective
Relevance I whisper Feed-
back, feedback into the bedding
Usually when you gag it’s bc
something needs to come out So it strikes me as
funny ha ha
funny to gag while trying to stuff someone’s
whole Junk in
Brooklyn poet Tommy Pico’s third poetry title is the book-length accumulation/epic JUNK (Portland OR/Brooklyn NY: Tin
House, 2018), following on the heels of IRL
(Birds LLC, 2016) [see my review of such here] and Nature Poem (Tin House Books, 2017) [see my review of such here]. In
JUNK, Pico’s lyrics move at the speed
of thought, from point to point, furthering and accumulating and
intricately-wrapped in observation and a sharp wit. JUNK exists as cultural critique, meditation and examination via a
language that revels in making the familiar strange, twisting and turning, and
including a legion of references, from Cindy Crawford and another #BadSelfie to
the Indian Removal Act and Japanese Internment Camps, reveling in a perspective
that is energized, politically aware and impossibly contemporary. Throughout
the poem, Pico utilizes “junk” as tether, mantra, throwaway and a series of
central images, set as a core to the swirling poem that surrounds. “This is
where // you come to lose yrself and This is where I feel extra jagged / Junk
not immediately useful but I’m still someone I can’t stop // lookin at ppl’s
Junk generally so u can imagine how hard it is / at the gym [.]” In keeping
with his previous work, the language of JUNK
leans into a language of short-form, utilizing the language of text messages,
composing a poetry that lives and breathes in an age of social media hashtags
and abbreviations. Why, one wonders, aren’t more writing with this language
with which so many communicate?
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