2 Poems

By Reza Jabrani

Sebald Cruising

A melancholic flaneur seeks a fuck,
peering through and around industrial ruins,
an x-ray vision examining history’s fractures.
Where the warm hand, the wet
mouth lurking in the rubble?
Dust coats his lashes. His eyes bear
witness to several centuries of decay.

Butterflies flit through the tall grass, alight on
derelict cars, desultory trash. One mournful
yearning erection prowling through memories,
wars, empires collapsing, genocides, the collective
unconscious, shambling horny across this
lonesome never-ending night.

Annie’s Scar

In third grade I had a crush on
Annie’s wrinkled scar. In in the tall
grass near the wire fence I asked her:
dear Annie, what caused such a beautiful blemish?

She stroked her little wrist,
a thoughtful child, curious.
I wanted to be that finger, to bear
such a splendid scar, to hold
her tiny wrist. She said the burn
was a souvenir from crawling
into an oven in the fog of toddlerhood.

I didn’t have the chance to ask her:
why, dear Annie, why did you crawl into
an oven, what were you looking for in there,
warmth or death? Because we had a flag
to capture, cursive to practice, multiplication
tables to memorize. Because we were busy
being kids, busy growing up.

But I had one answer as a child,
and another, now, which must
mean I’ve grown up.

reza jabrani writes coarse prose and crude poetry @coarseprose