Morgan Parker

Everything Is Bothering Me



My therapist says

I remind her of Woody Allen

It sounds like something

out of a Woody Allen movie

a little peach-colored and rich




All my friends say baby

don’t go to work tomorrow

I go home quietly

wake up and go to work

I can do it forever




We tried to see the meteor shower

from a cliff spit Bourbon

out of flasks at the moon

you said you’d never disrupt space

I said hell I own it




Everything flesh-covered

colored in flesh

my sunken stomach

some billowy clouds




I am trying to sleep alone

you are doing whatever

I swear to God I know people

they live on the internet

they are the best




The hills are large yellow dogs

trees on the mountains

turn to moss I wonder how

beneath me kitchen tiles

move quickly into next week




The street is quiet

for some reason

and someone is throwing up

maybe the ants

or the sunrise or the pavement




Dawn is foggy

an infinite blue stomach

a child

learning the function

of a verb




We are losing a war against

three-tiered houses they sink

their claws into the hill and bite

None of the right gods

will have me




Chorus of how you are

like milk or the shiver

of a little butter in a frying pan




I stalk buildings for you

like one word shoving another

I wait at a bar in the desert

drink three glasses

of yellow beer




I double as a canvas

for lit-up seeds

boys like fat brushstrokes

up close

they are grotesque




You ask me to cross the river

in the middle of the night

It occurs to me

the river

is roughly the size of your dick




In some non-western myths

it is possible

for a woman to become a god

what I can do is give a good hug

open up what’s in a pill




So I can be more present

I am getting emails on my phone

there are other places

ways of living

we have ruled them out




Advertisements are suddenly

not beautiful

I scrub my house

I let it get late




I’ve thought heavily

about the apocalypse

since I was eight years old but

I’ve never considered strategy except

to smoke cigarettes and wait


MORGAN PARKER’s first collection of poems, Other People’s Comfort Keeps Me Up At Night, was selected by Eileen Myles for The 2013 Gatewood Prize and is forthcoming from Switchback Books. Recent poems are forthcoming from Tin House and Gigantic Sequins. A graduate of NYU’s Creative Writing MFA program and a Cave Canem fellow, Morgan lives in Brooklyn and at