TESLA

The traffic coming down 101 wasn’t bad at all & now with that new commute lane which is so totally psychoanalytic all the way from San Mateo to Cupertino

Every Tesla I passed asked if they could help me with my hardon I pretended I didn’t hear & continued to glitter

Before you leave the house be sure to grab condoms the ones in the silver wrapping that I really really like & the absolute biggest flashlight you have

Behind the toilet right next to the shower I found a secret duct   Its beauty is rendering me of all of my liquid liquid fat Trying so hard to convince me that the possibility of

sexual liberty is real

Have you noticed that since we started fucking I now ingest so many more calories every single day

My veins once blue & simple red I now have to keep in the mini-fridge

My bones once thin & wooly now so many algorithms on a wire they stew stew always w/ so much gender-trouble with so so much inedible memory

Like most post-War Americans I used to think my clitoris looked exactly like a very very small button mushroom

Since then I have taken many pictures of it both for you & frankly some just for myself & now I see that it is nothing at all like a fungus but is in fact the very very face of true love anchored on the shore of a really big really really wet hole which since Whitman we now know is exactly the place all good writing comes from

Ann Pedone

Ann is the author of The Medea Notebooks (Etruscan Press, Spring 2023), and The Italian Professor’s Wife (Press 53, 2022), as well as the chapbooks The Bird Happened, perhaps there is a sky we don’t know: a re-imagining of sappho, Everywhere You Put Your Mouth, Sea [break], and DREAM/WORK. Her work has recently appeared in The American Journal of Poetry, Chicago Quarterly Review, The Louisville Review, Barrow Street, and New York Quarterly. She has been nominated for Best of the Net, and has appeared as Best American Poetry’s “Pick of the Week.”