|||

Poetry by Jordan Ferensic

All the group sex I wasn’t invited to

In a house somewhere, someone is getting fucked.
A love story is beginning and ending itself,
Good Days by SZA plays airily
from a phone tipped into a bowl
not so close to its listeners.
Their thoughts are elsewhere,
sensations muffled by bodies abstracting away.
Failure to actualize, failure to communicate,
All the tension is drawn from decouplings,
Pulling outs.

The story will be titled All the group sex I wasn’t invited to”
and it will read just like you’d expect, except
far more beautifully, but it wont be about group sex.
It will be about me, because I find it incredibly hard
to imagine the interiority of someone else.
Instead I will imagine a winner,
a loser, grasping churning writhing peoples;
lovingly dirty, whose wants might be met, will be subverted;
one will beg to become the wilted petals of a bouquet
forgotten on a motel chair, and the other
will be gone by the time they ask.

This is one of my favorite stories,
hypothetical me will say to the hypothetical
someone across the table from me.
Someone drinking an expensive cocktail on my tab,
a someone who feels lofty about all the wrong words,
a someone I think I might not like but who will still be
above, below, inside of, or on me.
I want to seem well read,
want someone to think of how interesting I am
as they explore me, vacantly lusting
for a spot, button, trauma they cannot name.

Shivering frenulum to quivering taint. I hope
someone will press deep enough to leave
a finger sized mark on my identity. Draw
question marks with tooth or nail
down my exposed throat, across my abdomen,
that ask me if it’s okay, to be boy on his back,
okay to be less certain by the moment
if I am worth the body I was given.

I will look at those marks later in the mirror
and not be able to recall the physical sensation,
not remember their hair, or
the way the flowers they brought me smelled.
Not the way I looked after fucking
how I thought I wanted to fuck,
I’ll just know how good it felt
to get in the car afterwards
and leave.

Jordan Ferensic

IG: @ibs_lifestylemag

Up next Tape World: Death Grips, Exmilitary CS [Anything for a Weird Life] Three poems by kyrah gomes
Latest posts NIAGARA by Juliette Sandoval TO MAKE OF THEE A NAME by Andrew Buckner Two poems by Jessica Heron "Grocery Outlet" by Lisa Loop "Gatorbear" by John Biron Interview: Skizz Cyzyk on Baltimore Filmmaking and the Mansion Theater "On Time" by Hanna Webster "Only the Most Neutral Executioners" by GRSTALT Comms Poems for Clara Peller by Ella Wisniewski "I've Got a Fake I.D. from Nevada and No Name" by Max Stone Truth Cult (Last Show) [Anything for a Weird Life] Three poems by Stacy Black "Bob's on Fire" by Alex Tronson Two poems by Alexandra Naughton Reflections on Series Two: How Does He Do It? [Anything for a Weird Life] "A Sadness that Sings" by David Hay "The City" by Ryan Bender-Murphy Three poems by Abigail Sims "The Depth of the Abrasion" by David C. Porter Steve Albini 1962-2024 [Anything for a Weird Life] Some Things are the Same Everywhere [BRUISER Field Report] BRUISER ZINE 005: Foul Black Rookeries by David Simmons "Bilbao" (for Richard Serra) by Damon Hubbs Beyond Periphery by Ada Pelonia Mayday [Anything for a Weird Life] "Drones Drones Drones" by Aaron Roman Review: White Paint Falling Through a Filtered Shaft by Adam Johnson "Buckskin Jacket." by Noam Hessler A User's Guide to Universal Order of Armageddon (Numero 221) [Anything for a Weird Life] "Sepulcherality" by Cora Kircher “Barricade” by Will Marsh