I put myself in the category “un-dateable.”
Extraterrestrial next to your tank-top biceps,
and ungodly quarter-inch-to-fade-razor-cut.
A man who never read a book in school,
hanging on a batch of quick-print spark-notes,
both hit with sloppy yellow highlighter,
a lazy shade of sun I’ve always found tiresome.

I’ve felt worlds shift inside these ribs,
grieved in somber wombs of memoirs,
soared through Wonderland’s reverie,
wandered prismatic halls of Utopian homes.

I’ve loved and wept over figments of men
written with souls deeper than
your paper-lined pockets.

I’ve held devoted chapters in these hands,
such better lovers to find among the lines
than within your apathetic, lifeless eyes
visibly unmoved when I spoke of
Tolkien’s unrivaled language,
Bradbury’s fiery liberation,
and Gatsby’s unwavering love.

I’ll keep my alien heart near
dusty pages and gracious cups of coffee,
warmer hearths than any impartial eyes,
the dead giveaway of cold, quiet minds.

Alex Bragg – May, 2018
Edited January, 2019



I read a quote today that said,
“Men can do anything to women
except bore them.”

the way you drag your knuckles
past my clitoris,
clueless cuticles
wandering around an easy X
that marks the spot.

The way you fist my ears,
degrading comments about other women,
hateful, ugly words leave your mouth.
I imagine they taste like graying ashes
of a re-lit cigarette.

Solution for Boring:
Walk all your malicious tongues to the curb.
Throw those useless, hollow bones
in a dumpster, already
half-filled with cheap tabloids.
Add a lively dash of kerosene,
and we’ll drop, with love,
lit, burning matchbooks.
It feels Romantic to light up,
build a towering blaze
out of ashes…
Together we’ll keep
all the addicts warm.

I’ll leave a quote of my own,
to all the hapless would be lovers,
“A woman like me
will only ever love
the smoldering fires
you’d start.”

Alex Bragg, 2017
Edited January, 2019