ZACH YANOWITZ

Zach Yanowitz lives in New Orleans. He can be reached at zachyanowitz@gmail.com if you want to talk about comic books. Read his dumb twitter at twitter.com/bro_no_way.

Hashtag Poem

A remake of “Glengarry Glen Ross” with an all-black cast and an all-koala crew

Chasing a shot of whiskey with a piece of honey-baked ham

The super religious kid from your hall freshman year who wants to be a Baptist

pastor and once loudly confronted you about your lack of faith in the bathroom at

1am

A bowl of Alpha-Bits that starts spelling out passages from the Necronomicon and

then suddenly your skin is inside out

Making a Myspace band page for your dog. Sounds like: Rihanna

Astronauts trying to kiss while floating in their space suits but bumping helmets to

the beat of their aching, gravity-free hearts

A lion with the head of an eagle and also the body and wings and feathers of an eagle

That one girl you all know who always sincerely insists that she’s, like, one-sixteenth

Cherokee princess

A pure-bred racehorse with impeccable pedigree but eyesockets full of tartar sauce

After much deliberation, naming your first child Battleaxe

Crushing up and snorting a Funyun

The World’s Gayest Dog

A Love Poem

You’re a contestant on a show called “Cash Crab” where you get picked up in a taxi

and it’s driven by crabs and all the questions are about crabs and if you answer

correctly you win some crabs.

I stare into an eclipse while I masturbate.

You eat a handful of peyote buttons in the hope that they’ll allow you to transcend

straight through this shitty week.

I finally get my medicinal horchata card.

You talk a big game about skateboarding but all I want is for you to pop an awesome

Indy Nosebone.

We try to create then patent carbonated soup.

You claim that your spirit animal is Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

Tiny Oprah gives away tiny Pontiacs and validates all our tiny dreams.

We go on a ski trip to Breckinridge with the Wu Tang Clan and Ghostface Killah

burns his mouth on curly fries in the food court at the lodge.

I dream that I can dunk and then wake up in tears.

We go on a date to a Chinese restaurant where the only non-Asian decoration is an

inexplicably enormous framed photo of the stadium where the Tennessee Titans

play.

You freestyle rap about waiting in line at Ikea.

I am a swarm of bees and you are an apiarist and I cover you from head to toe in the

sputtering daylight.

Tagged with poetry  poems