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Two Poems by glen armstrong
The Bedside Book of Aggression
You ask if I want a piece of you.
You offer me a baby toe,
a weird dream with owls
and stilt walkers, maybe?
You puff your chest like a bay window.
All of Darwin’s notes
on the local armadillos
would still fail
to explain
this aggression.
If we do this, we have more in common
with the frat boys gathered
in a circle around the fight
than the two homeless guys
to whom they promised
fifty dollars.
We will hold our iPhones steady
as we beat each other
senseless.
We’ll need new thinking on the density
and rate of gathered bodies,
a new definitions of “obscenity”
“alpha male”
“failure.”