Breaking up inspires such achingly good poetry. Bruising your heart really is worth it, because it provides sensational reading pleasure for us, so don’t be selfish. The break-up poetry of Jerry Williams convinces us that ending your relationship is good for the publishing industry. Who doesn’t dig a story of two lovers who went from endless mirth to unfettered agony? If a breakup has left you bitter, why not write a poem and have it painted onto the top of your car? If your nasty break-up is keeping you awake at night as you relive the last time you saw your piece of shit ex, don’t worry, we know what that’s like, which is why we recommend “Awake! A Reader for the Sleepless” which is filled with bad-ass poetry by Matthew Zapruder, Dara Wier and Bob Hicok. This nocturnal companion will get you so deep in the misery of others you’ll forget about your own. Post-breakup time is optimal for picking up new hobbies and interests like kite-flying or becoming a sex worker. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone. DSM does not condone this—it’s just something young kids are saying these days. So if you need a literary cocktail to get you in the mood, check out Hos, Hookers, Call Girls, and Rent Boys: Professionals Writing on Life, Love, Work & Money. We’ll get you started here:

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You remember not letting me in the house until I fought Jeremy Rowe? He’d followed me home from school, looking to avenge his sister’s good name. I’d insulted her after his 347th impersonation of my stutter. He’d perfected it over time, the way I looked up and bit my lip, how my eyes glossed over. Perfection led me to calling her a slutbucket.

Jeremy stood at the edge of our property, calling me “D-D-D-Danny,” yelling that I was a chickenshit. You locked the screen door, said get off the fucking patio and remember to jab.

At some point, I think after I had grass stuffed in my mouth, I glanced over at the front door. I didn’t see you.

When it was over, I whacked the screen door until you appeared. We stood there for at least a minute. You finally unlocked the door. Before going in I nearly said, “f-f-f-f-fuck you.” I think I wanted you to knock me out.

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David Erlewine’s fiction appears in FRiGG, the Los Angeles Review, Pedestal Magazine, and others. He is JMWW’s flash editor.

Looks Like A Good Place For A Library

Do you Facebook? We got that question via text this morning, in that wording. We could reply with the truth (we do), a lie (we don’t), or vagueness (we do but we don’t ever use it). This social networking anxiety comes with the difficulty of understanding who our “friends” actually are. After all, we don’t want the wrong person to see our self-centered “status updates,” but we also don’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings by denying them friendship. And so this text is still hanging out there in the purgatory that is the unresponsive SMS mobile atmosphere. To further procrastinate responding, we turn to the literature of the world, and, just for kicks, couple Jon Stewart and Andrew Dice Clay with Thomas More and Erasmus. In addition to Facebook, the internet also gives us access to porn. But long before the advent of the online smut, Shakespeare brought us literary smut. Superstition? Memory? Must be the Latin-American author Isabel Allende, who explores Haiti through her fiction. Further south, reading brings us back to Buenos Aires, just as the crowds there begin to settle the foundations on their new homes. Finally, a wealthy, celebrity author who wrote quality stories — hell, that must have been a long time ago! Who was it? Why, Mark Twain, of course, or so claims Tom Wolfe. Now that’s an update. – Andrew Geer