first words
guess what, we’re
bursting through
the dark corner of it
we’re mouth-torn,
rubbed pink
in the heat of that closure
there is an opening
(the word
too is an opening)
and three fingers
along its face
when the feathers
finally sprout, it’s
as if to say
yes, this is it,
I am saying
precisely
what I mean to say
sunday sunday sunday
so nipple of sun
spoke, licking
my cleft. ur
morning of audiences
borrowing
bigger cock,
and forgetting,
mostly in love
with forgetting. a yawn
in the heat of world.
example: it is Sunday,
and u ask what
means conceit, and already
a bigass blackberry
bursts beneath our
fervent feet.
Jos Charles is founding-editor of THEM – a trans literary journal. They have poetry published (and/or publications forthcoming) with BLOOM, Denver Quarterly, The Feminist Wire, EOAGH, Metazen, and boosthouse’s THE YOLO PAGES. Their writing has been featured on BitchMedia, Entropy, HTMLGIANT, LUNA LUNA, Medium, GLAAD, LAMBDA Literary, Original Plumbing, and variously online.