Two Poems
Matthew Porubsky

John Wayne Gacy

Practice makes perfect.
Each one perfect,
here, for me.
They're waves,
porous heat,
bright colors of my face.
Their solemn,
perfect moment.
For me.


Out of the need you have,
I have.
Green bills folded
purchase curve bends,
silent shadows
shim, separate,
Your flesh
wrinkles in my palm.