Julia Tranchina

Thank you lovely nightingale that is just the opus for me.

I’d like to know
that woman
like a woman. Without the cost of passing.
You think you know how it feels
to be force-fed?
You you
soft porn feminist.
Boyishness causes confusion
and delay.
I’m passing as a woman now.
Same way that certain flowers imitate
the insects they must attract.
I split my pants
and a tongue fell out.
What women want
is a penis
according to Freud.
What women want
is a protruding pencil of tenderness
according to Franzen.
What women want
is for me to strap it on and hammer them with my cock
as my straightened
blowout burgundy hair whips
back and forth.
Who is speaking now?
How aware are you
my flower
of my intentions
as I suck your nectar.
Disregard how you feel outside.
Pay attention now.

Nature is a savage one
on all fours
and your mental stability depends
on keeping a dick
for yourself.
I want you to strap-on
that male member as your own
sugarcane
rootstalk.
I want you to think of the meat
and the motion, which in physics denotes speed.
I want you to mount from every angle.
Drill down and repeat
like a jaunty record skipping.
Think woodpecker.
Think jackhammer.
Sink it doggy style.
You you
home wrecking
spotted sex hyena.
Hell bent on fucking and killing
everything in sight.
This is how we will crash the planet.



JULIA_TRANCHINAJulia Tranchina, a writer, poet, and municipal employee, has recently been named a 2016 Lambda Literary Fellow. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Rusty Toque, Bone Bouquet, Monkeybicycle, Permafrost, and Juked. She was born, raised, and lives still in San Jose, California with her wife and four-year-old twins. To find more of her work, please visit clodhopper.com.




(Visited 199 times, 1 visits today)