Suckling Pig
Fuck. It.
I am so horny, so lusty, so lascivious today. It hurts. Seriously.
I am so desperate for sensation that I have this pain in the pit of my stomach.
I'm pig-roasted, hog-tied, spitting quicksand at passers-by.
I want to say quick, pass me that bottle, that handle, please sir,
lend me your hand. It
won't take a moment.
Sir.
Let me suck you dry.
Let me suck you till you pass out.
Till you're brittle and I'm amyl nitrate.
I'm the secretion.
I am the pit.
And the pendulum. Swinging.
Over a whole big enough to fall into.
I'm not sure why I get so tense, it's a white knuckle ride.
And I want to get off.
Will you get me off?
I'm the bloody rape scene.
The contorted limbs and broken nose.
I am the wet underwear around ankles.
There's never enough space inside for everything and everybody.
I will have to eat you instead, vomit you later.
As long as you're inside the whole time.
I'm asking for it.
I'm begging for it.
I want to be fucked to within an inch of your life.
I'm the red hot cunt. I'm the itch to be scratched.
But my nails are too short.
There is never, ever any reprieve.
I ought to cut off my hands.
~Rachel Kendall~
*
#12
The Kama Sutra of Cinderella
You will gasp like a flue,
teach your toes how
to stutter, wear my hands
like an evening gown.
I will break you like a spell, treat
your mouth like a glass slipper,
leave curdled forgiveness
in your stomach.
~J. Bradley~
*
#11
The Kama Sutra of Don't Ask, Don't Tell
I will salt your shoulders
with my hands; no need
to look behind you.
I will kiss you like
an empty rifle, remember
your name.
I walk like this
because I'm as hung
as a closet; be unafraid
of getting stretched
like the truth.
~J. Bradley~
*
#10
Why Charon Doesn't Like The Cure
I don't manufacture angst; the wails
welt from the shoulders of my passengers.
Broken syllables rim the coins in my pocket;
you cannot dress regret in lipstick.
I don't need to paint my face
to smile like a waning moon.
~J. Bradley~
*
#9
All Things Are Things
After snow’s no longer falling on an earth
barren and grateful for the brush of
purification
(a drift is a serendipity, shawl, flowing robe,
a brocade mantle, white on white),
it’s alert
to transformation, a sphinx looking up at
time’s daily sweep, changing shadows and
slow revelations
of shape. Snow knows no more than a sphinx.
“Now” is merely “now” and,
relative to history,
a magnification of identity. How else to be,
than as a seasonal tendency, groping
the sundial, watching birds bathe...
~Sarah Sarai~
*
#8
Crouched on the Davenport
Decent like you but ink-drawing complex
our little girl knows pandemonium,
like a musical instrument she takes to
like Mozart to clavichord.
Those who live on the page are
framed, and molding imagination
to fight death as
a tool of death-lifting-life
from whole cities.
Our boxtop-saver fights only us,
cramped us, with our fervid lucid fears.
~Sarah Sarai~
*
#7
Chaos
~Janet Snell~
*
#6
Presque Vu
~Janet Snell~
*
#5
Funny Face with Floating Nose
~Janet Snell~
*
#4
SEED
I was whispering to my mother
only I was my father
only inside him
before he was born.
A pair of legs wrapped in a towel
in the home for the unwhole, the way a dying tree
can sometimes escape through the seed that falls.
My name is called but already what must be believed
to be seen, is believed, is seen: a moon
wandering over the landscapes of all that it cannot love.
~Matt Jasper~
*
#3
FURNACE
Revile the swindling pipes--
haunt the accolades. Paraded
as pets we suck leashes then forget
to heel, forget to lick
the flesh they airbrush out
must go somewhere--a glistening heap
of the lines that define the privacy
of special parts. Mine
fell off. Like a leg, I begged it
to make an appointment with
a mimetic prosthetic apothecary approved by
two guys who take the jerking arm off with
a hacking cough or what they saw
yesterday--this girl with removable forepaws--
the little furry kind you’d become furious with
if not for the endearing way
they detach themselves and come right over
when called. Here boy. Here
Rover of the haunted plains. Fetch
this man a magazine of you.
Why
are the best pages stuck
together?
I can hoist my lantern
until the beams spill everywhere--
flow down a woman’s long hair
until her breasts heave through a coverlet
to announce that they’re there
for me. I look away shy
with the spying she says, “Your species
can’t be trusted.
This is the baby we’ll make.
I’ve already left our wedding for
your wake.”
~Matt Jasper~
*
#2
THE BIG BANG
Our limbs fall from trees. They are artificial limbs. We try
them on and find them to be prosthetically appealing.
We notice our elbows and knees bend the wrong way. Your
breasts have been replaced by rotting melons. My hand is on
upside down. It is poorly hinged and refuses to carry out the
simplest of my commands.
Yet this is the promised land where we can chew upon our
forbidden limbs, ridding ourselves of what we have been....
Ah, my lovely amputee. Let us see how small we can make
ourselves. We will shrink like a tired universe first collapsing
slowly then rushing toward a center that, as soon as we reach it,
explodes.
And carries us out into ourselves again.
~Matt Jasper~
*
#1
ESTRANGE
A final embrace tries to contain the years we spent together.
I walk you out. You turn to me
and say, "It seems like we could get into the car
and drive back into our old lives.
Our apartment would be just the way it was.
We would be waiting for ourselves there."
I didn't care when you left.
I laughed at everything and remembered you
only in dreams of sad trees.
They could not go on.
Their leaves had fallen.
They are coming back to me now-
the leaves of all of the leaves in the world.
Though they return, they return without you-
as I returned accidentally today
to our old driveway not remembering
until I looked up into the empty windows
that we were no longer there.
~Matt Jasper~
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