potheadette

12 Tuesday Sep 2017

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Words that rhyme with grunt: we’ve been friends so long,
forthright, strong: rumble of vowel. I’ve throat-

fucked you so much that we’ve made your diphthong
skip groove. That noise that you make, that keynote.

It’s odd when the only thing in-between
me and our stranger is a ribbed condom.

Because we lured, with hash cakes, with obscene
talk, your new neighbor over. A threesome

when you should’ve been at school. By the third
bite you bit her neck, her clit, called her aunt.

You might call yourself a potheadette nerd
in a niqab, we both know what you want.

That sound that you make; unfettered, sloppy
with joy; my best friend, soaking wet, gushy.

-m-e-s-s-m-e-u-p-

09 Saturday Sep 2017

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Sunk in you, three knuckles deep. Palms pounded
on the car’s roof. Each hoarse, “Fuah! Aah!” Telltale

stains on the seat, your jeans, a pad with blood.
That night my mixtape and the winter’s gale

drowned out your croaky cries. You arched your spine,
sprayed down my wrist and arm. We had nowhere

to go so we drove downtown as the whine
of the blizzard led us to a daycare

parking lot, now abandoned. Friday night.
Our third date. “Mess me up inside,” you said.

You had to be home soon. I kissed the scar
on your inner thigh, rubbed you with delight,

then stuck my fingers, all cum-soaked and red,
in your mouth. The taste of going too far.

apocryphal thing

04 Monday Sep 2017

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Fruit flies drift around my glass-pipe. Cheeba
spirits — perhaps? A friend sends me ink flow

pix, thick thighs, spandex and short-shorts, extra
around the belly. I love my friend, though

we’re a world apart. Ghosts are everywhere,
like love. Dr. Teeth told us to, “Begin,

Believe, Begat.” But to start an affair
is an apocryphal thing with a friend.

Everything will change. I brush away specks.
On the laptop, Ganjasaurus Rex, plays.

I feel that heavy cold spot when I’m not
doing right but that need for friends, love, sex

leaves me low. To be appeased with just praise;
to have someone who might quell my distraught.

Quote

quote unquote

30 Wednesday Aug 2017

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Don’t worry, spiders,

I keep house

casually.

][][

Goes out,

comes back —

the loves of a cat.

][][

I’m going out,

flies, so relax,

make love.

][][


The Hungry Ghosts

Flowers scattering—

the water we thirst for

far off, in the mist

][][

No talent

and so no sin

a winter’s day

][][

This stupid world —

skinny mosquitoes, skinny fleas,

skinny children

][][

Last time, I think,

I’ll brush the flies

from my father’s face.

— Kobayashi “little cup of tea” Issa (from Robert
Hass’ The Essential Haiku, 1994)

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Jena Strong’s “Throwdown”

30 Wednesday Aug 2017

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give me the drag queens, dolled up and delicious
the two moms bickering over the dishes
the orphans, adopted, the chosen, the trannies
the witches, the protestors, tattooed laughing grannies
the boys wearing tutus and all the shirtless
daughters of the revolution playing basketball
on the broken courts of lost fathers
the failures, the forgotten, the throwdown, the freak show
the hurts and the heartbreaks, the hassles and headaches
the beggar, the baron, the shelter, the clambake
trade in the cynical, the stubborn, the splintering showdown
because it’s time to unite now, yes it’s time to ignite now
it’s time to pick up the phone to say, It’s me and I love you

— 

Jena Strong