birthday poem

By Adam Soldofsky



with blasphemies

and great things in my head

i woke up

but you’d already gone to work 


anyway none of it was new 


why aren’t they fucking off

the ones who should be

with their insane appeals

to modesty 


i’m not about to leave the earth


my face when i approach

it suggests

will begin to speak

of miracles 


what else is there to talk about 


my age

the age of entering into conversation

about real estate

as into range of the enemy 


what right have we to own the land 


at this point it’s foolish not to

if you can

see a little more of the ancient scroll

to abandon one’s shade and go inside 


i consider it a demotion 


if a person isn’t slightly embarrassed

by their resolutions

they should probably fuck right off

about this i am ardent 


it seems to me a perfect truth 


then i will do the most i can

with the sin of vanity

achieve a homeostasis

of loathing and self-love 


so much of gratitude is compulsory 


some not all i want to say

it feels that way to be miserable

needing more than a few deep breaths

to extinguish 


one’s impossible sensitivities 


a perfect truth

like a landlord

you are prepared to resent

and do 


that’s the beauty of it 


that is the beauty of it

whether or not it is a joke

it is a privilege to look up at the sky

to know the stars 


were not switched on for you 


i appreciate it all

the more

every modicum of love

that finds its way to me 


it does not violate my privacy 


if i’m the one who always says

too much

at the mere prospect

of a friend 


i stand on my head and proclaim 


come in! we’re open!

it appears i was born

on this day

squeezed out between small hours 


and fast in need of mercy 




October 20, 2019 Concord CA


artwork by Eden Soldofsky
Adam Soldofsky is the author of Memory Foam (Disorder Press), recipient of the American Book Award. Telepaphone, a novella with illustrations by Axel Wilhite, is forthcoming from Maudlin House this December.

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