TWO POEMS by Eric Tran

/ / Issue 15


          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.