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“Don’t fuck with success,” she said,
as though success were Texas,
mammoth in breadth and heady
with the sour smell of death,
someone else’s death.

If I were in charge for a minute,
I’d force Texan secession,
and grant statehood to Mexico,
which lacks truck with success
and is sweeter, if poorer, for it.

I have met with success, but
failed to bed her, the painted
bitch. If I could, I would forget
her, but she winks to me at
night, and I toss in my sheets,
criminally erect.


Adam Pollock

Adam Pollock grew up in Massachusetts, and studied at Bard College. He lives in Williamsburg with his girlfriend and their dogs, and works as a freelance Mac guy.


The Brooklyn Rail

JUL-AUG 2004

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