Poetry from Noah Berlatsky

Johnny Mem


Tyranny is a soup best bifurcated by patriarchy.

so old gran always said as she baked the smells of smarm

till the windows ran from the oilskin like old men in need of salad.

Artificial brains always remind me of that dessert


with the tentacles and the expiration date

shining in one perfect summer like Nerf bikinis

dipped in dangerous Substacks, the halo of hernias 

lowing softly in the mistrial. If only we could return


not to what we were, but to what we would be in a separate discourse

with more engagement and shitposting, more gelatinous rescue

of what Arnold Schwarzenegger terminated before he was good/evil 

or evil/good. But you can’t put your face


in the same fire twice, for the fire may pivot to video,

but it is not the same. And neither is your face. 

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