by J. Pierce
I was two people, a handwritten note hung from a chair in a store:
Do not sit. There wasn’t a chair in the room, only
what was there. What was there wasn’t; wasn’t, was.
Oh, God, I don’t want to bullshit you: If you wake up, you will see
Poems of J. Pierce have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in Thin Air Magazine, Packingtown Review, and Triggerfish Critical Review. One chapbook, Still Life with Rotting Baseball, was published by High5 Press.