ISSUE  1   2   3   4   SUBMIT

from Sailor Porn

Brenda Iijima and Stacy Szymaszek

dear big hunk
pilot off the Nellie
my midriff
nice on top of it
burn me lightly
yes Bruno
we'll go to the steak house
along the bleakest
of lakes
I would like
the green beans
ok beauty
this is me
in a dress
so good
on a desk
it was August
in one a them
M states - an Arab
from Ann Arbor
in the offing
hair of your chest
as you reverse your
trip out of me
I like how
you take a bite
from the center
of the bread
and viola...
here's my
home page url

August rust asunder I
scribe with my tenser
finger your buried ploys
there is no land in sight
and I crave valleys I
crave the cumbersome
weather ecology of
randy trees, bellwethers
born of your legging arms
recesses swim
horizon momentum lips
burse coarsely a blue blouse
spitted breeze
the nested furrowed
inland birds
salted frosting
on rings

I stand exclamatory
at the end of a pier
a human greeter
a seamark
did I ever thank you
for the drawing
of the big-eyed fish
marvelous as a sun
setting through pollution
I read "momentum hips"
because I watch too much porn
going the way "wherein there is no ecstasy"
and coming out ecstatic
about women and men
just think there are four of us
two upon the dying water
two who have taken up
qigong as the time passes

with your
postures of
on this rosy
chip our
but eating
steak is
a chastity
of wheat
be mine
on the rainy
be my porn
well worn
dresses ethic
dappled night
I’ll have
Your footprints

in the big toe
of the foot
swathed in
retired semaphore
dot in a square
"I am altering my course to port"
roused for a breakfast
and Chicago public radio
bath with the blue bar
I'm not getting the door
ah! communication
at a distance
message in a shampoo bottle
le marin telegraphy
splash splash
creatures of gist
have we apprehended?
homage to Greeks
me and my little mirror
send you a fraction
of inferno

disobediences brings
Egyptian magic
graced by the eyes of Ra
I reel recovering only
briefly to tell you
the affection
this hand game is a crime
of elegance
rub me in red paste
and drape angular
in this fold is civilization
come on girl!

theoretically yours
kissing curtains
a snow storm has
drawn people into
open air - see you in May!
here is Thoth
writing on his palette
with nothing on
his bird head - are you
reading this book?
magic of wine
glasses from a party
last week - it's the
residue I'm attracted to
briefly husband
I'll rub red paste on you

livening requiem for skin’s equilibrium
you slink around the library lost of me
each page is disastrous
a cover, foil
I rid you of shields
please recover my nude
lost sense
here on the mountain
your eyes scan
will you

I never wrote “Atlantis”
I did walk over water
with you, a misplaced address
of a rehabed building top
through a money district
into a small arbor, cenotaphs
and back, till the first sign of pain-
give me liquor give me a licorice bath
my nurse, a dogwood whose song
is a temperate cloth over my polluted eyes
leave me with dogs that swim
in water that kills
in water that builds mansions
we lay out summer whites
take me to your cellular level
a drawing of a squid is the entire enterprise
Hart Crane is a suitcase of biographies
is an arc of spit over the bridge
he greets me with an industrial hug
on a patch of lawn
on the anniversary
of the nullification
of my wedding

an arc like a loss privileges never
it is this difficulty of residue
ensuing you slip, scantily
why a voice of biography
the offering I have is within
entrance, spinal is
here the winter quite like spring
we are moving at an angle of the visceral
shoot down whiskey for the fire
we sit at the bar baring nothing
the description of pleasure is corrupted by digits
to rewrite habitat
we need a walk
we do…

now we both clean
with French triple-milled
a half licked bar of blue
quarantined in a dish
it did bad things so now
a woodsy candle
a compliment to the furnace
I understood better how to get
to Bergen from Milwaukee
than from Williamsburg
my sailor hat was auctioned
off for 5 dollars put
in a bag for gas money
and I left the Crane bios
thinking I had the bridge
the man who escorted me
here left me with Royal Jelly
told me it would make me
randy and I would need it
but even on the L at 6 pm
I am not repulsed but yes
it would be right to walk above
ground for this ergonomic
chair is not working
come out of self-sufficiency
and perceive an island
me solar radio and 60 bucks
you first aid kit

years have passed and I note what’s tied to skin
oeuvre and tectonics, lock and key, dispelled not
symbolically like the politics of innumerability
we are presented with future, with interest, with skin
I love water and queer with ears
when we talk language thickly
speech acts bidding humanity
approach to syntax anchor wing
rosewood oil, the boat we smell of
recognizing becoming
of the language and formalities
latinate rituals
rather illocution
to pronounce, its all over us