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The vein is moving up,
Oh baby, this neighborhood is planters and weeds
A rupture in my feed
I’m carrying the books, I’m writing the articles

Give me a jingle when it pops
I suppose I’m of age to make arrangements
To sit solemnly and take hands
Planters, weeds, guns, invisible money: America

The bass guitarist
La la la la la la, stoic, chanting,
Strutting while standing still
Are they dead yet? Has the transfer begun?

Matt Gulley

Matt Gulley is a poet, playwright and fiction writer. He attended Wayne State University in Detroit and currently resides in Brooklyn with his partner Jenna. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Moon City Review, The Madrigal, The Minnesota Review and Consequence Forum. Find him @selfawareroomba on Twitter or on Bluesky.

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