Two Poems by Guillaume Morissette

SEVERELY HANDICAPPED SAMOSA.

all samosas look severely handicapped.
at a dinner party I was talking to a person
who seemed angry with me for being unable
to provide an uncomplicated synopsis of my life,
like the kind shitty movies have. I wanted to say,
‘I am a severely handicapped samosa’
and if the person seemed confused, I would
add, ‘severely handicapped samosas have
hidden features, you can throw one like
a ninja star and it will make soothing noises
as it wooshes across the room, or like
a seashell you can hold one to your ear
and it will murmur folk tales from central asia’
but then it hit me: ‘oh shit, everyone here
is commodifying themselves, and I don’t have
a business model.’ I thought about simply
copying the business model of the samosa,
which has near-universal commercial appeal,
despite looking severely handicapped,
or, at best, like a botched pyramid.


I HATE MYSELF.


a purpose is a person but backwards;
if there’s a place where I belong
I have already ruined it. as a kid
I ruined my purpose, which was
to prevent bad things from happening
to dogs in movies. one time on screen
a dog died and it was my fault;
I couldn’t help the dog with oreos
or my ant farm, so I cried a little,
I thought, ‘maybe the butterfly effect
will make it right’ but it didn’t, because
the butterfly effect is all or nothing,
either the butterfly flaps its wings
and later somehow a hurricane forms
or it doesn’t and instead the butterfly
just stands there thinking about
a self-defeating life philosophy
that says, ‘you can never love a person,
you can only tolerate a person.’
I still feel bad a little about the dog
dying in that movie when I was a kid;
it’s kind of a backward feeling.


Profile: Guillaume Morissette

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