S t e l l a C o r s o —

POEM BY WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS

If when I am trying to sleep

and the dogs and the chickens and my friend

is sleeping

and I watched the sun go down just now on the moon

the landscape erecting itself around me

if I in my hammock unzip

flex my hips to swallow the stars

thrusting and squeezing as I do

contain an admirable muscle 

counting reps while whispering to myself:

“I am horny, horny.

I was born to be horny,

I am best so!”

If I on my back with my legs in the air

straddle the entire night sky

and the stars enter me like obedient soldiers 

a whole conveyor belt of stars

Who shall say I am not

the happy baby of this glampground?

POEM BY LORCA

Arms around her

arms around her for a second

then leave.

Girl at the top

of the roster

is cogent, is accurate.

The coming of gallant tourists

who pretend to have been poor

for centuries also

pass around their fair genetics

sober jackasses and floozies

with eyes blue and green

with large obscuring capes.

“Come here, girl.”

(She has not yet been schooled.)

Pass around their little tours

cinematic degradations

with tits the color orange

and old crumbling shoes.

“Come with me, girl.”

(The girl has not been schooled.)

How much for your tarnished pussy

dark with diffused luck

luxury passed around since youth

rosy and at the mercy of the moon?

Go on and get the girl.

(The girl has no education.)

Still she is at the top of the roster

still she is cogent and accurate

with the filthiest bra in town 

she has worn for over a century.

Arms around her now

arms around her for a second

then leave.

POEM BY RIMBAUD

You truly are the greenest cunt on the riviera

Hunched over and smelling of various hells 

Dark agent of the night, of the fiery mound,

Look: you are a tiny ugly mouse in rayons.

Soiled youth, bush overgrown, no tits,

And you nuke your beignets as though they were chicken cordon bleu,

Dork; little dummy stinking of perfume, sussed up like something new,

Ass so pale it lights up the entire place.

Let’s go pee on the lesbians, those lithe ducks. Make them cum:

Like sick insouciant children, cursed

Nature, no perhaps we shouldn’t, I’m afraid of them.

Yet the scent of your piss is so serene;

Le douche du jour, surely you are a man with a pussy,

Hush now. I’ll slap those two cheeks red, adroitly.

POEM BY NERUDA

I don’t love how your bright red fury sets sail, over me

or flexed calves propagate a thousand fires:

but you love how certain men fall into obscurity,

secretly, you enter into their somber arms.

You love how they gather no fleece and the clean 

smiles of such men, it’s true, light you up like a watery flower,

and you are thankless with your love which haunts my corpse

until I ascend with scented tears.

You love without teeth, whenever, wherever you go,

your love is direct and without ordinary ache:

and you love without manners,

as if you are the only one in the world who knows me, 

your tan hand fits perfectly into mine,

and I could pick out your eyes from a crowd in my sleep.

.