Youth costs, and I’ve always kept up
on the price. When I turn eighteen the world
will be different in every way. Outside,
No lie, my tongue breaks down before a beautiful boy.
Poetic superpowers stripped, I return a plain-old boy:
neons & member number thirteen of my little
black book asks me what i find most important
Because I was in the ER. Because I was bitten by [ ]. Because I almost died. Because I drowned in makgeolli one July. Because the hanbok didn’t fit.
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now and at last / not a second too soon / this soft profusion / vellus giving over / to bristled glory / to suck with bottom lip /
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Harry calls me Lover so exclusively
it’s permeated my self-talk: Lover, The Eudemian
Ethics won’t read itself. Lover, just enjoy
the unseasonable warmth. But enough about lovers!
baby girl, you’re full of shit. you just met him, but
the elder who sells crystals from a cart on the corner remembers when you were still young enough
to cut your teeth on the taut edge of being alive.
we knew what we looked like our tattered denim hems escaping their poverty
finished prayers we carried from the car. buckets full and heavy jars with tokens thrown in for the weight
we knew what we looked like our tattered denim hems escaping their poverty
finished prayers we carried from the car. buckets full and heavy jars with tokens thrown in for the weight
She loved bugs, didn’t she? Oh yeah, she was crazy
about a butterfly. What else did she love? A tall
the indignity lying
in not being invited back over
Nothing is new, least of all a world. Empire’s
propaganda litters highways stretched through
a Vegas Costco Gas from a drive-up
It’s good like gold teeth in the mouth of my manager
barking orders over the headset in the drive through,
Dr. So & So says that soon I’ll get
better at being better, & God knows
my hairdresser is envious of my hair,
humid and thick and too much, again.
My grandfather died this morning.
I had not seen him in over five years.
Not since coming out as trans
to who I used to call my family.
the eyes followed me like a bee starved for honey
with their saccharine solicitations until the time was right
Gay men, I am told, have no sense of direction—
our feminine instinct relies on landmarks to guide us
this is for the chain strangled in your daddy chest hair
the white cutlass red velvet
seats and interior the naked