The Great Movie

In a room full of time, hunger haunted a certain eminence

of birds gathered here. Maddening, a dirty little secret

let me give morning: odd and quixotic, hearing the threat.

Almost as if he didn’t understand trust. Or if men were angels.

No. Angels serve as chains to bind night on American gravel.

I read heroes, alive, shoulder to shoulder.

I got manhoods opening, choosing as they say, astonished:

all of us remember. The talking. Earth. The phrase uttered,

and you knew me: the end of the world.

Fold, cave (skyrocketing) even if it pushes us, hope

will speak. If we could get her in the crosshairs—just go

outside, fire in the air. You’re a flock of geese. Her answer was:

                                           Look. We’re serious.

It doesn’t end with love tomorrow; recently shut down,

your time provides a sky to light supreme. We stood up.

We stood up: The great stagnation facing the lesson.

You don’t send locusts to destroy the lousy; that’s why

I’ve been easing the means of our engine, booming.
You don’t have to read any further. We need to use a lizard.

We need to stop infinity. We need to see (trapped) the strings

attached, spreading the promise, telling the story. Take out your cell phone—

you will be joining us. I stood with my underwear, beyond anything.

                                         I love you. Dear friends, we can bless.

Up to 8 Hours

Subvert love. Hold the outer subversion spot

by the moon grip with your thumb.

With the removal string hanging, subvert the tip of love

into your vagina at a slight upward angle. (See Image 1.)

Slide the outer subversion spot all the way

into your vagina until moons touch your body.

Push the word inside. Push all the way into the spot,

or use your other hand. (See image 2.)

Remove the inner and outer love spots

at the same time. (See image 3.)

The word should now be comfortably inside you,

with the removal string hanging outside your body.

When a word is subverted properly, you shouldn’t feel

any discomfort. If you feel uncomfortable,

the word may not be far enough inside. If this happens,

remove the word and try again with a new one.

You can wear a word overnight for up to 8 hours. 

If you’d like to use a word overnight, subvert a new word

before bed, and replace it immediately upon waking.

Tupperware Party

If my body is a Tupperware party,

I’ll let my tongue speak for itself. Look—

how perfectly sealed I can be. Look—

how easily opened. Pass around my fingers

like melon ballers. Examine my toes

like a good set of measuring spoons

on a perfect ring. Dishwasher safe, lifetime

guaranteed. I see your pretty dresses:

starched, fluffed, matching your lipstick.

My lipstick is the whisper of an air-tight seal.

My dress is a pasta strainer, and I will fade—

not break, not warp or bend—over the next

twenty years. If my body is a Tupperware party,

I am not invited. And yet, here I am,

in a stranger’s living room, my shoulders

distributed as door prizes, raffled off

and grasped in nervous-sweaty hands. I close

my eyes and wait for these women to finish

their finger sandwiches and petit fours. Wait

to pick up the paper plates, watch them collapse

into an old trash compactor, its rumble

visceral and sweet.

Bruce Wayne's Girlfriend

I dreamed
 I was Batman’s girlfriend;
    he was twice my size
            and a great kisser.
Or maybe         
 he was just an okay kisser
       because I’d close my eyes
          and wish
                he was you. 

I woke up
    I’d move in with Batman,
         who kept so many secrets,
who seemed    
 more in love
   with that one
than he could ever be with me. 

It was nine a.m. and I
      went to pee,         
and upset, before I returned
              to bed, not sure
if I wanted to keep dreaming
     of Batman
with his shiny hair and thick arms
and that blur of the veil
           that is every

I closed my eyes,
 the sheets     up
    to my chin,
           more easily than yours.


“The Great Movie” is an erasure poem. Source material: Cruz, Ted.
"Keynote Address." 2013 Conservative Political Action Conference. Washington, D.C.
24 Apr. 2015. P2016. Web.

“Up To 8 Hours” is a found poem. Source material: A portion of the instructions from
a Tampax box for first-time tampon users. Words in the original text were removed and
replaced as noted below:

tampon = word

finger = moon

insert = subvert

tube = spot

applicator = love

E. Kristin Anderson is the author of two chapbooks: A Guide For The Practical Abductee (Red Bird Chapbooks) and A Jab Of Deep Urgency (Finishing Line Press). She has two more chapbooks forthcoming: Pray, Pray, Pray: Poems I wrote to Prince in the middle of the night (Porkbelly Press, 2015) and Acoustic Battery Life (ELJ Publications, 2016). Her nonfiction anthology, Dear Teen Me, based on the popular website of the same name, was published in October of 2012 by Zest Books (distributed by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt) and her memoir in verse, The Summer of Unraveling, is forthcoming from ELJ Publications. She worked at The New Yorker magazine, has a B.A. in Classics from Connecticut College, and is currently an online editor for the YA & Children's section of Hunger Mountain and a contributing editor at Found Poetry Review. She has published poetry in many magazines worldwide, including Juked, Hotel Amerika, [PANK], Asimov’s Science Fiction, and Cicada and has work forthcoming in Room and The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts. She blogs at

© Ira Joel Haber

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