Jon Elofson is pursuing an MFA at UNCW and participated in the Tin House workshop.
He grew up in Rhode Island (USA) and attended Brown University where he studied
neuroscience. Subsequently, he worked in biotechnology for six years while writing
on the side. He's queer and his writing tends to focus on queer characters and
relationships. Outside of writing, he's an alto saxophonist and a crossword constructor.

Stay Tasteless

They were going to eat me
my family or
doppelgangers with fangs
my sister with fangs.

Every grilled cheese sour
patch mint milano mayo-
soaked french fry
for a kid-bone stew.

I screamed when they weighed me
one digit to three.
Dad bellows my name,
back porch orange light,
bike home wondering will
they be family or
family with knives &
kettle & cutting
board coffee table?

Black bean burger
chewed tonight, one-time
date in a maroon booth.
Now two digits down for
wormhole lettuce &
pesto speckle backsplash,
acid abs & poison throat —
flesh flash flush
inedible still.

The Hatchlings

The hatchlings in
the ceiling chirp
to life when the
remote vanishes,
TV all adamant
black glass.

Spilt La Croix

Spilt La Croix
can rolls off
porch, frantic
tin snare too
empty & tight.
A thousand
plaintive frog eyes
gaze through glass,
inside the dryer
ribbits why.


i am the first three-dee poem.
please do not subject me
to your lowly inkjets &
laserjets & flat screens. feed
me to your three-dee printer &
let the resin work its magic. from
that juddering arm, i'll bloom
in hot filament, pushing frontier
dimensions real as those chapped
lips you still kiss. i'll be a perfect
cube on your desk or a sleek canoe
to project yourself into. a trinket
to collect sloughed skin & nostalgia
flakes. you'll never stuff me ten
feet deep in the recycling bin.

who am i kidding.
i'm flatter than flat.
i'm bits & bytes,
pulses in a motherboard,
cold ions in
your brain. no toothmarks,
no shadow.
i flash & fleet &
vanish. zero-dee,
less even than space.

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