poem for Jon Ruseski

hey man, if I was sending you a text
it would feel all wrong 
like it always does

the it of life’s vulnerable bottom
a clasp on thought

but this is a poem
*recency surf*
*primacy bath*
our scenic oceanfront landscape depends on is as
close as i’ll ever get 
to LA’s historically mild weather

it can’t stand in the yard alone
the who for
being “severely everyone” if i may

spending my days as an accountant
sun-kissed 
calling my sister 
clowning under the divine utility, called upon
because if i were to say:

“health”

I would mean:

“god”

I would mean:

“the way one pushes away from the desk, a thumb is a paradise too” 

I’d get close:

“Kara’s Flowers”

sometimes near:

“his mom gave me a bag of loquats from Culver City, a citrus fruit, a simple thing, an excess”

the look of looking up from above:

“i’d like to complete the task but i’ve been drinking all day” 

drawing near:

“beautiful bottom, be still my heart”

and even if it were all behind me i’d consider:

“the mark you make on the back of the frame will function as a reminder to your daughter that the world dreamt joyfully”

have i seen personalities?

a nail so pointy and hurried 
it couldn’t press send 
any memory like Olympia in 2008, soldiers versus tits, quietly lighten up! 
because you do end up in the material 
so not needy
it just sinks in 
a sound a room away

Guy Pettit is a designer and editor living in Los Angeles. He founded and ran Flying Object from 2010-2015 and more recently, Catalpa, a mostly undefined publishing and residency project.