TWO POEMS by Eric Tran
Pulse
June 12, 2016
Us and blindfold
in delicious dark. Done deaf
by bassline, scouting heat
with bladed tongues. Breath
a scream spun in reverse
and Lord don’t we holler
wet down each other’s
necks. Rapture and rupture,
every sizzled bead
of black sweat
spit swollen out
our skin. O God
make naked a flaw
with climax steeping
our glotted throats.
Give name the hollow
wont to fill fat
with blood. Sing us
a lie: our hearts
fed thick with thrust
and rhythm, sacred
fist made habit
the gasp and surrender
of living this soft.
He Who Helps Drag Queens Descend the Stairs
You in the Abercrombie half zip
made for someone who knows a decade less
kindness. You who doesn’t smile at dick jokes
or a queen tonguing her cheek to phantom
a blowjob, but who still offers dollars bookmarked
between fingers or resting in your palm
opened like a leaf. Who taught you this devotion,
the unassuming necessity of a single spotlight,
of the glue behind the glitter, the links above
the chandelier? You, patron/saint of
the naked, unrolled ankle
strapped in a high heel. You harbinger
of a spandex pantheon, you gel-tipped
trumpeter. Here, background music
is heralding. Take up your brassy horn,
press it to your lips and blow.
