in which we all learn how to make our own bodies, just fling ourselves together outta whatever kind a materials we need, to where you’d be walking or maybe hovering through the alleys a cluster a brass coathooks & PVC & permafrost & you’d brush circuits with a handsome something passing by made up outta fresh cabbage leaves & Christmas lights & the most rusteaten bicycle chains you ever did see & maybe later on at the bar you’d catch auras with a pretty splash a green, CD booklets from every single one a Björk’ s albums swirling around their lampshade & the two a you might could get a room somewhere or maybe even might could become a room somewhere together & fit yerselves up into some corner a the town square looking up at the clouds pulling em down having the whole sky over every Tuesday night for dinner

Constantine Jones is a queer Greek-American thingmaker raised in Tennessee & currently housed in Brooklyn. He teaches creative writing at the City College of New York. His work has found a home in The PEN Poetry Series, Blood Tree Literature, Hematopoiesis, Stone Pacific Zine, the inaugural issue of SHIFT: A Publication of MTSU Write & has been performed at various venues across New York City.

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