Two Poems
Frank O’Hara enjambs louder than jazz off a rooftop, he said language should not behave
this is not a poem this is a phone call
answer me mid-bite even if you have to spill
your espresso martini over that typewriter
form is a trap since your feelings are facts
this is not a poem this is a phone call
unbutton the rhythm of new york’s humidity
nobody should experience anything they don’t need to
and if you’re bored, it’s your own damn fault
this is not a poem this is a phone call
ditch loneliness, treat grief with gossip, hunger with wrists
flirt at memorial shindigs, don’t look for symbols
look for someone who looks good on top of your sexy pants
this is not a poem this is a phone call
drunk on cadence, nerve on syntax, sex on lunch dates
i confess that i don’t need eternity nor a cigarette break
just a good line that knows the sweat of your name
self-portrait as Oscar Wilde
after the second scandal of the evening
the gaslamps flare like gossip through fog
what is wit but a wound trimmed in lace
the bouquet of male perfume on another’s collar
a sigh mistaken for sin mistaken for desire
chrysanthemums rot in the vase like good intentions
i cradle a letter unopened for three weeks
it smells of camphor and cowardice
even heaven gets boring when you’re banned
from touching anyone inside it
so i haunt the plush interiors of theaters instead
the boys lean in like question marks
too young to understand that a look can indict
and too old to be innocent when returning it
i quote plato too loudly in public
and hold his shadows like wine against
the light where truth is less important than taste
punishment is a fruit i plucked myself
perversion the way a priest kisses his cross
tender, but never without implication
i want to die somewhere decadent
with good linen and bad press in a room
that once loved me back
they said i was too much too clever
too velvet, too violent, too viciously
myself but never enough to be forgiven
every man i kissed gave me a reason
to write a tragedy and call it the love
that dare not speak its name without burning
Jax NTP teaches critical thinking, literature, and composition at Irvine Valley College, Golden West College, and Santa Ana College. Their words have been featured in Apogee Journal, Berkeley Poetry Review, Crab Creek Review, Hobart Pulp, Permafrost Magazine, Cordite Poetry Review (AU), Antithesis Journal (AU), Sinister Wisdom, and elsewhere. Their debut poetry collection comes out next year: in bones & tentacles: how to pivot when you’re paralyzed.
