Kevin Killian

                                                                                for Justin Chin

The candy hearts, each one no

bigger than a nail, spill out on formica:

“Love Me,” “Text Me,” “Class Act,” “E-Mail”

Wow, they have changed since

since in the days when I loved you

“Got Love?” says this one, hot yellow dot

on a table of faint gray. Here’s “Amore,”

something ethnic as I doll myself up

Heart in my throat, all itchy and fevered for my

audience with Kylie.  Thinking quick

—like two triggers on two guns on each finger of the hands of Kali—

John Woo double bill baby! —Thinking like history

screwed in lightning I grab a few hearts

“Be Mine” and “Candy Girl” and thrust them into my

open palms, like blinky stigmatas.  Then I pat

at the screen and the doctors pull back the linen

curtain.  “My Boo.”  “First Kiss.”  “Dear One.”

Hello, I cry out, is anyone here?  My heart

is beating faster and work is a disaster

nothing changed since the day

in which I turned against you and my

little thing got hard and rammed back at me


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