From the Archive: Two Poems by Lonely Christopher

Image by Nikos Patsiouris. Reproduced under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic License.

Ex-Boyfriend on the Beach

I pissed on a church the blameless ships and the bough

twisted aways; I kissed you in the narthex for sandy

seconds, cruised into the ocher culpability of summery

tributes there is a lingering government in this fade

out for pixels may sting they may wake you nightly

“trust” blisters, dematerializes, the magic of your brain

roasting under a long prospect of crystal stars, as if

a dawn was made for us or surrendering, fettered gulls

given into the sea, the sweat on a can of diet soda

that sort of thing, your coarse tongue enjoying the ridges

of the roof of my mouth and the hustle the ride to

the edge of the island in a stolen moving van, slaves

producers, poetasters, and the emergence of a new

vernacular, what the all-seeing eye cannot capture

and the fictional data crowding my view from this

time share pull the strings your sunglasses dip

down the bridge of your nose, sweat mixed with

sunscreen and dried come splashes into your eye

and from a nostalgic and forlorn vantage I watch

the endless slideshow, ersatz vacations, pictures of

you turning somersaults, turning gold in the comely

glow of another yet another fucking impossible beach

the fantasy of a finch with a potato chip in her mouth

the day that I know I need to meet you at the end of

The Road to the Temple of Honour and Fame

Does a diamond desire itself?

The eagle we know is better than he we do not

flying in a frigate, preparing to live

vibrancy and rise, just to say and try it out.

While we might as well, might not

it does not seem that you learned from your own example

men and woman and a walk down Madison

small counties, piteous churches, lurching

you’re not going to be able to stand up to this.

What is the thing that we need, what is it

is it what I take from you when I touch your cheek

or what disappears before me in the dank cave?

Put your hand inside me and become political

caress an idiot farm girl in the outhouse out

at the edge of the formal property, attain

or arrive on the bus every day like the rest of them

we all come on the bus we all bow down to masters

of how we do, how we work it out, windows.

I don’t know about you but I was born

to burn the land up

chock full of sin and wonderment

and right now all I want to do is walk down the street

with you and cogitate my small rebellions

I was alone until I met the ghetto guy on the Down Low

asked his HIV status, he said, “I don’t know none of that shit.”

His grandma was in the living room, he cried

as he fucked me, I used it as cruel fuel, I dreamt

that my mother took me to the cinema to see Snow White

when I was a little child, buckled up in the back seat

bellowing for alternative monies and preparation

savage as it is, it is the stand, it is where it is going

desire, desire, desire, give me the Supreme Court

give my dad a simpler time when men were men

and a boy could fend off comestible hegemony

by one wave of his magic wand in the parking lot

the eagle opens and clutches, we make the relationship.

We go away, we let a formidability pass and spread

put you on the floor girl you are good, you’re dead.

I will make a hundred of you and drop grave

before it is gone away, before it is generated and mad.

We are your mistaken parents, motion for the speaker

on the previous question to table the appeal

on the outstanding parliamentary procedure

to foreclose the following vote for

the approaching amendment for procedure

forecloses and proceeds to the ground

and gets made to be a worse species of your unconscious love.

These poems appear in The Lifted Brow #26. Get your digital copy here

Lonely Christopher is a poet and filmmaker. He is the author of the poetry collection Death & Disaster Series (Monk Books, 2014) and the short story collection The Mechanics of Homosexual Intercourse.