Choke; Sir, Yes Sir; and Serenade

by | Feb 4, 2020 | Issue Thirteen, Poetry


we eat the same words

the t’s of each stick

my throat like epicentralia

older than words you must

have chewed your share

to softness

but when I say I am full

more bend loose and when

I insist I really can’t

take any more there are

still more curving into

the mass of words crunching

the delicate spiny nest

we have loomed in my throat

each click a note of uneven melody

I breathe between but when

your rhythm intensifies

my stomach convulses

and when I swell to birthing

the result of our blessed union

you know there is space for more

the m’s of each morsel

descending my gullet like prayers

my mother taught me to keep

secret thoughts when curled

into an s

Sir, Yes Sir

Beyond that basement off 85th where you learned the radian your jaw could achieve, if you forget correct address, I will permit it. In the bruise before dawn, we will walk blocks with signs where red means stop, concrete is not wet with sour aftermath, rules for you are not scaffolding you climb deciding to be or not to at the top or the bottom of the pile or the stairs.   What would you do to me if I forget, would you test the limits of my joints, my rigid desire solidified for a moment, until it wasn’t and it was something else? Had we met when our concrete was still wet you’d have written in it with your crop, here. I guess I’ve always preferred the concrete smooth, cool to the cheek when ass up and waiting
  Sir                           What would                               you want                                    to do?                                   To me?
    [     *      ] blush blue the knobby parts of me sand me smooth cream stone temple not my body’s but yours rend where I open and close at the mouth totally impenetrable, yet gaping as in yes, as in please, as in now please daddy, I will be your golden throated boy lark, swallow, swan song
If you forget correct address I will forgive you. My belt will not cross your back beyond the saltire. My kindness that lifts your ache of lack, of blue vinyl refusing to stretch for breath you need   but Sir you must remember my lack isn’t some cavern for you to fill. Kindness is what allows you to knuckle muscles supple. Your ache is my pleasure to suspend violet moans don’t ever forget


pinot smeared smooches,        old grape skin lips       cinched, the funk of long

office days, suit pants             on Thursday                from laundry Sunday

and even digestion                                                      is a 20-hour process

How have you not heard?       Modern Poly               like mid-century furniture

upholstered in synthetic fabrics                                  berber oak, dark

cherry marble  lucite               “the modern poly” collection

for bachelors in need of          easy clean                    parties and skin friendly

for couples in between            kids’ bedtime              daddies’ playtime

getting buffed when you rub against it                       you hear that gay men

only want dick and ass            punch and nylons        On Saturday I went shopping

and a Quad said                      We’re an attempt to overthrow capitalism

and patriarchy                        but they never texted me back

they missed my video             call from the stall                    that punk bar where the DJ

dropped bass on my balls       until I came                 and I loved it

vodka drunk and undressed, slippery                         paper limbs fluttering

atop the stomp, thinking         about buying slate Plexiglass grey suede

microfiber that beads when doused                            when modern poly

tests chemistry                        and alchemy               and water

changes forms between us without the aid of light

                                                Modern Poly               might make wine stains

see through                             but men remain           late century, fluttering

limbs flexing, buffed              curated versions of themselves

uploaded and coded                upholstered in religious habits                                   

from Sunday                           after Saturday             spent heels to heaven

a 2-hour process                      Have you not heard?   Poly is modern           

is seamless, scentless              an attempt to topple how we’ve been told

men should be                         interested in it             when we feel it

a velvet sectional        without pillows           

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