Load up your Stratocaster & your incandescent porthole
                                 an eyeball coped through gold band,
           Mr. Radiotower, Mr. Longshot, Mr. Bloodtest, Mr.
                                                                Relax, don’t do it–

don’t do it. the nuns have calculated your time of arrival
 in anticipation of the time between landing gear
 and your buttonfronts opened like a suitcase

only to free prophecies from watchbands:
                                 husband, this drug is too slow
                                 father, this drug is too slow

the riverbank of the Mississippi
travels south from cove to cove
the copious hollowings
cut through marshbank

           can you stand sir yes sir
           can the mermaids sing each to each
           can you not inhale
           can you watch a peach devoured
           and bite down on a single fig

                           this pastoral speeddating clogging
                                                   artery and the bottom nine

          oh for a taxi to break down
          oh for you to cry like a girl at the cherry blossoms
                                     to have entry beyond the elastic band
                                      at the top of thigh high pantyhose

what do they call that thing, the fulcrum that holds the tights over the leg?

already in your journal those tights are yanked off like skin
on an avocado all the alligator bits
& to be in this moment
like puppy chow sent into a kind of orbit

and the thwack of her body on her body
target practice for the damned
you’re bloodless you’re an arpeggio
you’re reaching into your pants

                           like a very obvious magician pimping
                           eyeballs, the heart is one of those flowers

                      that opens once twice sometimes no happy,
                                                                  you say, only love.

no happy. queer as a fortune cookie in bad translation.

your brother in Tokyo dressed as a girl last year
you’re sworn to secrecy, sworn to records, sworn to
nostalgia, sworn an oath
      to what’s his name the one
      with the hair the one who they called the lizard king
      and didn’t die in his sleep

no by now the girl cavorters have dropped their shoes,
                             have gone inside, a melting like drugs
                             you’ve packed your telescope
                                                                                      army of plastic soliders
                                                                                      armed with plastic radios,
                                                                                      armed with arms, hands,
                                                                                                            hands, mr.
                                                                                             happy, mr. good day
                                                                                             sunshine, happiness
                                                                                             is a warm schlong
                                                                                             when you don’t
                                                                                             shoot to kill–

the lust the windowscreen
the soprano shrieks all over
you fallen like gingko leaves
to fan your face tugging jerking
quick strange at your command,
general air and space, check your
heart is lily white check the cabin
                                                         pressure check for liftoff

the starvation & so you visit vineyards
on business trips with imperatives
slung and slung suspenders to hold
your heart in to keep your body in check

I will just sit in this chair and watch
I might touch myself but
I really love my wife

Erin Lyndale Martin’s work has appeared widely in such journals as PANK, La Petite Zine, Typo, Cannibal, Tarpaulin Sky, and many more.

Rocket Man
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