Jude Dillon Presents: Jessamyn Cuneo of San Francisco, California.
Bio: Jessamyn Cuneo is under your bed. No, wait, she’s in the closet. Or, she’s peeking in through your bedroom window. She likes to watch you read poetry in your pajamas.
Originally sprung from Boston soil, Jessamyn got her BFA at Emerson College. Soon after graduation she transplanted to Los Angeles to work for several magazines and enjoy the roller-coaster-by-the-beach life. When the So Cal lifestyle threatened to placate her into oblivion, she migrated to San Francisco, where she now spends her days writing fiction & poetry while completing an MFA in Creative Writing from California College of the Arts. Her poetry has previously found homes in Haggard and Halloo, Synergy and Mad Swirl.
photo credit Jason Crum
friendship
if one day
you learn how to play alone
come find me
international intercourse
i wrote the president
today for permission
to fuck the world
sweetly of course
with a bag around
its penis don’t want
dirty plastic mutant
babies just want to
experience the girth
of 7 continents
drawn on whiteboard with permanent marker
incessant memories
stick like rubber cement
toxic want of fumes
to brain / lust for
destruction courses
through the veins
sick nicotine blood
tattooed in mud
unfurl the flood
the wet-hot fragrance
touch me in the place
reserved for temptation
you shark / you fish of
my nighttime imagination
.
fast food love
the love again!
& then the loss…
we ride by these
drive-thru romances—
fall victim to the
best of them.
it’s all junk, no
nutrition, all just
seduction & cheap-
tasting satisfaction.
starving eyes meet
quick-filling food
for thought & you’re
left hungrier than ever
with an ulcer
in your stomach
where your last
three bucks
used to be.
three a day
betting that you
(more often than not)
leave the room and
it falls dark like
night in the desert
the crisp cold of
the empty land
and when he tells
you that you can’t
keep on breaking
up with him three
times a day you
pause to wonder
if this isn’t a
mistake that’s
really a crisis
in the grand
scheme of things
in the glands of
your body there
is no peace
.
soap dish
what is relevant
what is relevant right now
skinny model fuck-up fairies
selling souls to television
our best friends
our love at the end of the night
pale grainy surface of the moon
searching for water
bombing for water
the bubble
the bubble is relevant
my tongue candy-striped
my tongue sprinkled with artificial flavorings
beginning the day with a spliff
never a newspaper
the bubble
the bubble is really relevant
too many poppers
too many gems of apartments
pawned by prick landlords
the constant beat-down
the constant beat of hunger
and we still don’t get paid
to do the shit that matters
so we wake and shake for better drugs
or the sun
how it’s now poisonous
is also i’d say pretty relevant
i don’t want to stay in my room
i don’t want to avoid the sun
i don’t want to be told
to stay out of the ocean
by anyone
i’ll swallow the waves
i’ll lick the goddamn sun
and it’ll be really fucking relevant
.
another galaxy please
a place so young
and dewy smooth
.
.
warrior
from patios
on cliffs
we stare into the
face of los angeles
& witness
weathered idealists
tumble down
into the canyons
times aren’t rolling
they’re charging past
with ownerless leashes
we try to catch them
as they whip by
love
is stillborn
in california
.
.
the way it goes
slammed fast you
catch your breath
through moments
embalmed with
liquor and sunshine
the taste of endings
stuck on your tongue
no gum can chew
away this flavor
of discontent:
still lingering
still coating the
taste buds like moss
on uncomfortable
nude sculptures
buzzing here &
humming there—
swatted at then
splatted against
the walls are the
last-ditch efforts
and still the
memories play like
box office hits:
raking every
heart string and
falling back on
every cheap trick
