Jane Ormerod

Die Harder Inside

A hand. Wheels. Silver nodding, coffee, the inward flight. Trust Los Angeles. Collect and die. The baggage of toe fist and bear co-and-op-and-corp-oration. Frosty riding. (Live to thirty then flee when you hear noise or Christmas or corrected love.)

Consequences are clues to the idea of maturity, of banging heads against wall. Of do not enter, do not enter.

The simplicity of the Pacific, simple sculpture of death. Elevation stops. Gates fall. Breeze blocked. The bell of employees. Safety is key, the age of the hosts is immaterial. Feet are scholarship. Feet are law. Feet are circuit. Thirty-five. Weep for detail. Beautiful detail. Industrialization means questions. Ultra-gates, missiles, codes, vaults, money means not reaching the count to four.

Countdown paused. Talk loudly to yourself while in peril. Dangermen roam your building. There are no friends, friend. And no rules, just plaster castles. Bankrupt orphans. Proceed with the walk of your life with your enemy’s name taped to your arm.

A ladder of blood. The (stunning) view of city and pizza and casual hatred.

Arm. Ligature. Figure of nothing on nothing and shrub. A wonder vehicle circling with little purpose. Guess what? There is no cavalry. Just life beneath table, jokes at the expense at those who do not need them.

Run through the alphabet backwards, motherfucker. Tally up the engagements for the century. Your smoke does not smell, does not reveal. Safety glass is not safe but your footsteps cannot be followed. Your Olympic exit is a wound.

Through tinsel, launch. Toast! Grow jerkweed for lunch. Oh Happy Christmas. Happy venting Eve.

Trash is universal, am I right? Business is a fountain full of flour. Shit is listening. Duality will arrive in two hours. Be merry, stay with me and steam. Stay for the party and laugh. Laugh at the paint and enjoy the television show. Electromagnetic diplomacy. Jeopardy? You hear me?

As expected, the cross is double and professional. Rigged. Ragged. Time to gather, to chop, to desk the news. Hold, hold, hold the like, the junior highs, the shining hose outside the room. Celebrate the fall, the inauthentic watch. As always, the clasp is a giveaway.

Hell sinks. The bear returns. Give your life expensive.

–Jane Ormerod

Poetry