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      December 26, 2016After Joining OkCupid, Desire Becomes a Periscope on DistanceJessica Plante

      I’d like to confess that dating four men at once
      is kind of awesome, the way the heart knows how
      to expand and break off into knowledgeable pieces
      occurs quite naturally. And because one of the men 
       
      happens to be a micro-economist who studies 
      game theory, I’ve begun to consider the nature 
      of scarcity, how I am like a commodity where desire 
      is the only available currency; and since another 
       
      is a translator I’ll ask, how do I say the heart is a vagrant 
      in Polish, and he might reply, in the spirit of love
      and conversion, that I must loiter long enough
      in a foreign territory to understand the principles 
       
      at play. The other two, a musician and a biologist,
      have led me to expect that by the end of the month 
      I’ll have found that the best way for the body to hold 
      its own concert is by singeing all my organs simultaneously
       
      through the fire of orgasm. However, if this seems 
      like too much information, try disconnecting 
      from your deepest sense of longing long enough to take
      in the world at its pleasurable best. After all, our planet 
       
      is something like a cruise ship with its midwest buffets 
      of grain and its lit-up cities that bi-coastally drift on the plate 
      of our hemisphere. You’ve seen those NASA satellite photos 
      of earth from space, how we’re congealed 
       
      in darkness like a terabyte of lightbulbs tossed
      in the air. It can make you want to catch your breath, 
      the beauty of the cosmos, or just some new stranger 
      standing in front of you in his underpants.

      from #53 - Fall 2016

      Jessica Plante

      “I started writing poetry when I was fourteen. My first poem was rhymed, metered, written entirely in quatrains, and called ‘A Land Without Time.’ It’s subject was two lovers divided because only one of them grew old. I knew then I was a poet, though I have never figured out why. But perhaps it’s because of what I felt then, and now: that the intimate possibility of someone else reading and understanding my words fills me with awe, terror, and glee.”