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OP’s poem. It reads: You Can Have an Affair By Jim Mello "The end of an affair is always death." - Anne Sexton, "Ballad of the Lonely Masturbator" You can have an affair but it is always noticed Lips have a memory they don't match in the first pressed instant on return even the clever ones and your time becomes a comedy of doors (Katharine Hepburn Cary Grant the leopard they chase, Baby) no matter how careful or smart You cannot patronize effectively this new absence or with the well-used shape of you, so known under the fingers which mapped you second to last And, finally, as you look more and more hysterical you must know that all this is all only held together by belief in you by the one who speaks to your back to the places where you were

Sunday poem time

Thanks, man

Copy of OPs poem. It reads: Embankment By Jim Mello They'd hung three American flags over their camp Just past the concrete embankment, where there was some shelter A few tents, blankets laid down, old suitcases bursting tarps and a dog, who slept in the dirt, unworried about appearances only knowing it was loved by the many hands who grazed its head, its ears, made sure he ate They tied the flags to trees, to thin branches allowing for simple knots to be made over their heads like old pagan markers to ward off evil as they slept A bid toward fidelity An appeal to the men and women who'd eventually come, take the tents, and the dog throw out the blankets, to remember that they were patriots because their humanity wasn't enough and that they surely belonged somewhere

A free one

Wild to think Richard Linklater made the Before Trilogy so that horny dudes could make fan edits of Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke set to Cigarettes After Sex

The Rays swept the Yankees and the Tigers swept the Marlins I am out on the street barking at neighborhood children

Get more from Jim Mello on Patreon Doing poetry now

And such and such

Copy of OPs poem. It reads Technicolor Morning By Jim Mello See John Ford out the back window Lowered curtain of velvet morning Douglas Sirk reds purples White Christmas Paramount crown of mountain Matte paintings The sky bending over, applying the last pinkish hues to compliment the whites, the grays more vivid than life before the shot

New one out today

Saying “yeah rearrange my guts” and laughing over and over again while the surgeon instructs the anesthesiologist to increase the dosage, his eyes getting wider and wider in horror

this is how I get fifty extra grams of
protein a day *starts crushing glass with my bare hands*

this is how I get fifty extra grams of
protein a day *starts crushing glass with my bare hands*

I know everyone is probably breathing a sight of relief about the Trump Truth Social post but my uncle said they just bombed the bridge he'd use if he wanted to evacuate Tehran and a friend in Iran says the whole country is terrified. This is NOT the moment to let up!

an “extension” means next to nothing with this regime. the US and Israel have both used negotiations and ceasefires as cover for escalating attacks, particularly to kill children, destroy health infrastructure and *assassinate negotiators*

Evolved a new form of dadmaxxing Sunday by carrying my laptop around with me while I cleaned the house so I could keep watching Ben-Hur. Hands on my hips, standing in different rooms. It took six hours

Criterion blu-ray copies of The Big Chill, Network, Broadcast News, and The Before Trilogy

Made some ugly noises pulling these out of the box only reserved for the third circle of hell

OP’s original poem. It reads: As the Sun By Jim Mello I said I love you as the sun loves you: for a time How romantic, I thought that temporariness how safe too My wisdom satisfied, I held that beautiful thought wrote it down admired it as a man who doesn't garden but goes out to find seeds he tossed growing without tending And when what I said ripened bloomed in you You said I love you as the sun loves you: for a time How romantic, I thought that temporariness how safe too all that loss

Morning. Here’s this Sunday’s free one.

OP’s original poem. It reads: As the Sun By Jim Mello I said I love you as the sun loves you: for a time How romantic, I thought that temporariness how safe too My wisdom satisfied, I held that beautiful thought wrote it down admired it as a man who doesn't garden but goes out to find seeds he tossed growing without tending And when what I said ripened bloomed in you You said I love you as the sun loves you: for a time How romantic, I thought that temporariness how safe too all that loss

Morning. Here’s this Sunday’s free one.

Hahaha

I want to kill them❤️

Those first two fastballs were so beautiful and then those breaking balls came

Very fun to be a baseball fan explaining that it is a game filled with the hardest things to do in sports and to be able to hit a major league fastball is tantamount to biblical miracle while also holding space for the fact that nobody on my team can throw or hit or has ever seen a baseball before

Get more from Jim Mello on Patreon Doing poetry now

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A poem by OP. It reads: Thinking On Baseball By Jim Mello Age does not limit interests I'm learning or maybe this feeling was always coming That now of all times I would love a game That nothing in me is set, no love can be set Never believe that you've come to the end of yourself And it makes sense that me who spends all time thinking would grow to value sun and movement

Hey I converted my patreon to poetry. Three poems a month for $1. Three sweet little guys delivered to you every Sunday while you’re still in bed for the price of one Chipotle bowl a year. Please check out my little guys.

Two Four Lokos and he’s done

I could beat every pokemon to death with my bare hands

searching ‘Mrs Met thick’ and immediately getting ads for euthanization services

urls.fr/DzYN15
Another plea for Hammam and Abood! Direct link above

You don't hate the New York Times enough, you just think you do.