Jared Joseph

2 poems

HOTDOG SWEATPANTS AFTERNOON 

People are tired and waiting 
The air is empty and shining 
Like wrist hair in the afternoon 

This poem is in sweatpants 
in the afternoon 
in the backyard 

our dog is an unemployed 
living pair of sweatpants  
backstabbing the government. 
Crazy, dreamy governments  
overcome “crime” 
or social welfare  
what Fox News  
calls the afterlife 

of civilized society. But once i let down my long hours after life
ends i will rest and be buried in Kiss makeup and sweatpants 
i want a limo-sized hearse carpool 
and to be buried animal style at In or Out, it being in, death, in 
the afternoon glinty-ass sun whose rays backstab 
My SPF-5000 melanin neck in a hysterical yard 

where wisteria bends. The porch is a certain kind of love, but the backyard is also
love’s afterlife. 
About a memory of love that will never expect you 
to be satiated. No there was no letdown. The hair was long as night and
afternoon was long and saturated with the memory of love that never backstab
-bed you down or let you up to ceilings 
pending to be saturated no there was no 
letdown. The hair was long, afternoon-saturated 
The hair carpooled with the [edit memory after] 

Afternoon 
sucks, hot dogs are good,  
white wine is fine, the word  
“backyard” naps in sweatpants 
well, i don’t believe in rest, in world, in the rest of the world, in afterlife 

that is the rest of life, but i do believe 
in six things: 1. after 
noon 2. back 
yard 3. back 
stab 4. carpools  
and 5. not finishing 
what you are 
set out to 
[evening begins] 

The evening was long and my hair thick.
Then, the hair was thin and in Arabic 
hair means poem too. 
Speed is hard, but life is easy. Where do I sleep?
The hair is long and covered with loose features
An established jazz system 
What happens between colors? 
Well, inside a nutcase 
Only the heartbeat is shown 
And indifference.  
They say that god is in the blood 
but jesus seems anemic. Your use of satiated has me
fucked up rn, you said, and i was taken by the line
break. There’s a crack in everything, Leonard
Cohen said, that is how the light gets in. i can’t see
the forest 
for the porch picnic tables. 
The afterlife of them is me  
passing jasmine, that passes to the front door of
my backyard memories 
that 
Let down thr long hr. 
Watch a movie, watch the moon now 
Because the moon is a movie. 
An absolute grave at sea. 

What happens between colors 
is mascara that is good it is 
called poems 

[ending redacted] 

The ending was wrong, needless 
i do not hate hot dogs 
The breasts were the water 
and the breasts walk the land the legs 
spurn 
hyacinths are not horses 
the shower spurs the posing body 
the water does not fall 
like a lot of guillotines 
Like a parking lot of guillotines 

All of my emotions pool in my car.
Of Lily and Parrots for 52 hours in the horse power driven car 
Imagine a hearse on a highway 
Now imagine your naked self 
Images are always nudes 
Texts are always pillow talk 
You take a photo of someone beautiful
to you you beautify and think of
keeping the story frozen in a lock 
Look at all my memories  
having only magnitude, not direction, weigh me not down, but 168 pounds. 
What happens between colors 
is some mascara that is good 
it is green and orange that will never turn silent 
It is like loving a black box 
where when the plane goes down it opens i
don’t know what up. i
don’t know. Honestly i don’t know

 

THIS IS A POEM ABOUT THE JOKER AND LONGING 

for another Batman movie that is not alone 
in celebrating cops and beating the shit out of the otherwise healthy
mentally ill who get such small 
social welfare benefits because these people 
do not fit society’s image 


ideal. i keep getting stoned and watching 
The Dark Knight because Heath Ledger as 
the Joker is so amazing and after every amazing 
performance he has killed himself because of,
That’s the lore, and love is an allure. Look at star 
wars: it sucks, but there is love and lore 
is addictive, but it’s still bad drugs. Heath 
Ledger says Did i ever tell you about these scars 
several times in the movie, and then tells about 
these scars, so the answer technically is yes, by 
the second time you’ve told me of these scars, but 
the story’s different every time. The scars always are
the same. Why so serious? Scars are just 
lights whose source’s far away and prob’ly dead 
by now, i.e. “Now” killed it. Atmosphere is 
pressure. That is, if you think about it 
and cannot stop but think about it, all the 
Time asking questions of the viewer that can 
not answer, cause that is what a witness is. 
Enough definitions for today’s episode. This 
Performance killed you, i think seeing his tongue 
waggle out his mouth like a tapeworm trying 
to jump out the window that’s the human 
body, and the gut is the hearth where 
the home is. Heath legerdemain. i thought 
this was the end of definition. But then 
Now killed my longing, time alone longing, broken healing
“heaven is small” image on the sign for the people 
and their irises widened by the filter on their sun 
glasses or an instagram’ed bouquet. It’s mother’s day.
A lot of people get their periods on mother’s day. 
Heads you live and Tails you die says Two Face (I’m a Gemini) Now 
you’re talking says the Joker. “Now you’re talking” 
is a strange expression cause it retroactively nullifies the whole prior conversation. Four drinks
in i 
can get interested in any conversation, like you i 
-diot are suddenly my brother, because an
immediate vicinity is like a family, we have at least
briefly direct relation, and you can dance the can can
if you can
even stand. i wish i had a straw so crazy 
solid i could play pool with it from this bar
seat, snorkel in that pool. Wild iris and a mild 
virus. The ache dulls the ring tone’s efficacy. Didn’t
know i was calling? You should have put a ring on it.
The Joker thinks everyone is bad and so he is bad as an
exposé as a symbol of how 
bad everybody is he will expose as if he is 

a shutter speed. Batman shudders. “People are good”
ridiculous invalid-beating supercop with mammal ears and
moving human mouth says. Now we’re talking. In the end
Joker is proven wrong, proven right. Not exactly a spoiler
alert because i spoiled it already, and the spoiler ‘s an oiler
to make you wanna watch it 
and add 5W30 to your stupid engine or whatever
Hearse Ledger drives. Green purple red god. Joker wins
new scars from Batman. It’s a cheap trick, a card trick.
It’s a cheap card trick, right, consolidation. J has B (Jim
Beam) pinned down on the floor of a high rise, head
dangling over air and says Have i ever told you how i
got these scars? No says B, but i know how you got
these, and stars 
fly off B’s nylon metal-plated Skrillex suited
fore arm into J’s face and hurts his face or 
something. But he did tell how he got his
scars. It’s measuring the distance between scars 
which is traumatic parallax and the rhetorical
composition of these scars we know from  
the baby giraffe that’s skinned for the new  
skin in the old ceremony, old ceremony 
being skin, being human, time suits 
pain, the pain itself numbs the pain itself, 
“itself” trampled underfoot the dumbest  
places where there are no outer spaces.

 

Jared Joseph is boring.