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 May 2016 11
JJ Hutton
A breakdown? I don't know if I'd call it that. Something about that word connotes immediacy, precision, a kind of instantaneous loss of your mental faculties. No. This has been slow. Like two, three years slow. I'd welcome a breakdown. A breakdown would give me the chance to start over, to mend, to be a better ******* human being. This degradation, and, I know, I'm being repetitive here, this degradation is so slow it's almost intangible. It's so slow there's ample room for denial. I need one swift, irrefutable act of self-destruction. Don't do that. That little gesture, that go-on-just-bottom-out hand flip. You're not listening. I don't have the energy for that. I'm not reckless. Wanting and being are, in this case, mutually exclusive. You know where I am? Let me illustrate it for you. I say I love you to empty rooms. I say sweetheart, sweetie, et cetera for no other reason than habit being so strong.  I'm not beat up about her leaving. It happens. Sometimes two people just don't work, you know? But maybe I'm beat up. I haven't slept in the bed. I sleep on the couch like she used to. I buy her favorite wine—which I don't particularly enjoy—but I drink it. I drink it, I think, just to watch the bottle go empty. I drink the wine and I sleep on the couch hoping it summons the breakdown, some ******* finality. That's true. I've been many different people, but I've been the same one for far too long.
 Jan 2014 11
JJ Hutton
fallout
 Jan 2014 11
JJ Hutton
You laughed when they struck me with stones.
You cried when you kissed another man.
 Jan 2014 11
JJ Hutton
Some people feel like places. And these people are vacations. These places are people. Freckled wall paper. Foyer tunes whispered. They are supermarket candles. Wavering flames by way of unsealed windows. They are blinds, these places. And you see through. And you hope through, these people. Pulling back curtains of brunette hair, applause deserved. Delicate, delicate. The slightest noise could alarm clock and send you back to work. Silent, silent. It's rest. Try hard to relax. She's a mole between *******. She's scar tissue on an ankle. And this place, this place smells of honey; tastes like almond milk. "In a perfect world what would you do tonight?" Sleep in this place. Wake inside this person. Simple. Clean. In a perfect world, morning sewed with lavender clouds, tall grass, and a watercolor sun unseen before. And this place likes eggs over easy. And this person warmly invites like white lenin.
Watch a reading of this piece here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GrxYUglTaUw&feature;=youtu.be
 Jan 2014 11
JJ Hutton
on forever
 Jan 2014 11
JJ Hutton
---
you missed the first curve, she said,
you see all the good girls are already
getting married at your age.
you're just going to have to wait
for the second. when the divorces start up.
when the bisexuals calm down.
---
 Jan 2014 11
JJ Hutton
Whatever will be, will be.
And they say this to bring you comfort.
But what was, wasn't so good.
And what is, is even worse.
What could be?
What could be if?
What could be if I?
I feel the caress of my own fingers
on my own neck as I place my collar
and think pityingly
of the kind women I have known.
 Nov 2013 11
Brandon
Retreat
 Nov 2013 11
Brandon
You got your cigarette lit
Bathed in the back porch light
Gesturing madly with your drink
Lifting it to your lips
And taking a sip
The air is starry
And the sky is lit
Like the fire in the firepit

We lead ourselves astray
Into lives we never thought we'd leave
Say goodbye like we're saying hello
I can remember watching the shadows recede
On the white picket fence
But not the smile on your face
When it left me without a chance

Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
Oh, no they don't
Retreat
They stay so long
After the war is over

The kids are crying
You tell them it's alright
I take your hand
Pull you closer for the night
If we can keep it up
Play this charade
With our flawless facade
We can make it thru
Until the sun comes up

Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
Oh, no they don't
Retreat
They stay so long
After the war is over

Your cigarette is out
And the spirit's empty
Bottles on the floor
The fire is ashes
And they're burning out
Quicker than we can light the match

We lead ourselves astray
Into lives we never thought we'd leave
Say goodbye like we're saying hello
I can remember watching the shadows recede
On the white picket fence
But not the smile on your face
When it left me without a chance

Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
The don't
Retreat

There's broken dishes
And broken hearts
They litter this home
Like works of art
There's empty wine glasses
And empty conversations
They litter this house
Like works of art

Oh but these nights
They don't retreat
Oh, no they don't
Retreat
They stay so long

After the war is over
The war is over
After the war is over
The war is over

The war is over
After the war is over
The war is over
Don't retreat
 Nov 2013 11
Amber S
walking with wedges always seems like the best, until
you’re walking home at seven in the morning.
i still taste cold pizza and the pina colada hookah.
i waited for you to breathe me in like the vapors,
youth has never tasted so beautiful, love.
i used to think i was the period in every sentence,
but you’re the comma and i’m the semi colon,
we’re never ending, sticking between awkward
phrases and short cut
sentences.
he never sunk his teeth so deep, and i am so bruised
i think my bones are bleeding.
youth has never tasted so beautiful, love.
i did not feel alive until five in the morning, when all i could feel
were his fingers digging in my cells, searching for everything
i thought i could never become.
i never felt this alive in his arms, and now i see all he did
was pull the blindfold until i saw inky blackness,
pushed the pillow in my mouth as i continue to cough up chunks.
let me run through the soggy leaves, breathing in the crisp air until
i collapse.
youth has never tasted so ******* beautiful,
love
 Aug 2011 11
JJ Hutton
Fast food
of love,
eating, eating, eating,
there's no discussion, no daydream or
bright-eye'd plan,
only blankets, ******* Jack rings,
and plastic floating promises
in a draining bathtub.

The blackbirds circle and sing,
while you download new ringtones,
paint your nails,
and screen.

Once you've got the knowledge,
you can't fake ignorant bliss.
Once you've got the knowledge,
it's no-hit-all-miss.

Soften you up
with promise rings,
Hallmark cards,
and confetti strings,
the ******* frees,
the ******* ease.

Once you've got the knowledge,
you can't fake ignorant bliss.
Once you've got the knowledge,
how can you love yourself?

I'm under your skin,
with my pen uncapped,
I'm the love your mind's got
on tap,
as the cigarette burns,
as the knives unfurl,
I know,
you know,
that ultimately
you're growing sore
from the impending
marital bore.

So blow up the bridge,
walk through the alleys,
let the guilt of your heart
dissolve in coffee,
the time--now,
as it's always been
because

once you've got the knowledge,
you can't fake ignorant bliss.
Once you've got the knowledge,
there's a riotous beat in your chest.
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