James Ardis

Money Rock

“I think. (go away). Cupcake,” – Assorted neighbor catchphrases, Animal Crossing: Wild World

Finish everything by eleven forty-five
woke at ten twenty, hit the money rock
until I finance redecorating my second living room
in Christmas in July mixed green garlands
designed by Ellen DeGeneres.
Must be safe to assume: nobody’s
mother is still alive,
museums downtown exhibiting
sabretooth torsos from my crawlspace.
Am I masturbating
into something stranger or less
strange than everyone else?
Don’t talk to anyone, but still get flirty
mail like: “You and Paris are two
of my favorite things,”
jotted on a copy of A Moveable Feast.
Tonight I’m in an apartment complex’s
fitness center restroom
shanghaiing wi-fi,
PandaGLO is a cam model
too cosmopolitan to show her pussy
two hours in, puts a finger inside the third hour,
starts fisting in the last hour.
In the last hour a store exclusively selling
my handcrafted swimwear opens a block away,
my house close enough to hear my maid
knocking, my maid letting herself inside,
my maid locking herself inside.

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James Ardis is an MFA candidate in poetry at Ole Miss. Poems from his video-game inspired project “Damage Values” have found a home with Blinders and decomP. You can contact him here.

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