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Intensive Outpatient: Fragments

by Jeremy Radin

It appears I must cram my entire life into the second half of my life.

I would like to cry but my tongue sits too high in my mouth. I never 

had my tonsils removed. I don’t keep a log of my bowel movements. 

Log of my bowel movements is funny. Are you positive this is all the syrup 

I’m permitted. I’ll commit to one yoga class but it’s too hot for a hike. 

I want to feel my brain smash like cheap cake in my teeth. My outside 

therapist thinks I should not listen to the advice he does not give me.

It’s not that you’re fat it’s how the fat tells me you feel about yourself 

said the woman who fed me the bread of my cowardice. I long to live 

alone in Scotland, wander in duck boots with a big dog named Kugel.

This isn’t the body I’m meant to die in. I haven’t seen Northern Lights.

Jeremy Radin is a poet, actor, playwright, teacher, and extremely amateur gardener. His poems have appeared (or are forthcoming) in Ploughshares, The Colorado Review, Crazyhorse, Gulf Coast, The Journal, and elsewhere. He is the author of two collections of poetry: Slow Dance with Sasquatch (Write Bloody Publishing, 2012) and Dear Sal (not a cult press, 2017). He was born and lives in Los Angeles where he earned his MFA in Eating Large Sandwiches at Brent’s Delicatessen. Follow him @germyradin

"Nom de guerre" by Jeremiah Moriarty

"Grandpa Shot a Rattlesnake in the Goddamn Face" by Remy Ramirez

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