FOUR: TRANS PLANET / by Jos Charles

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
what I mean to say




sunday sunday sunday

so nipple of sun
spoke, licking

my cleft. ur
morning of audiences

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.