Cyree Jarelle Johnson is an essayist, poet, and librarian from Piscataway, New Jersey. They are a Poetry Editor at The Deaf Poets Society, Managing Editor at Transfaith, and a candidate for an MFA in Poetry at Columbia University.
photo credit: Nicole Myles, 2016
Castration Sonnet w/ Bruce LaBruce Cameo
Honest fascist in my bed, I got railed
and I loved it! Cock sandpapered naked
stubble spines jut through me. Take It! Take It!
stuttered. I suck. He tried to hold it. Failed.
Tore out a hole in my silk boxer briefs
fast-knuckle fisting, dubious relief.
$500 snatched out his sock drawer;
memory makes me want to fuck him raw.
California king. Gold-plated cock ring
torture. You torture-teach rhetorically.
roughshod depression when you don’t call me:
swollen holes engorge to turgid bursting.
America left me wet for this tryst,
Christ! Another Fist! PLEASE! ANOTHER FIST!
Prince Died for Fem Boys
I said I only want to fuck the taste out of your mouth
& I meant it as a furnace. I meant burn manhood
down in button up crop tops. I mean burn it down
H O U S E Q U A K E like angering Prince as aunty
the one with money & two separate couch sets.
The one in the front room & its flecks of floral sweats
choked in plastic. It squeezes my ass, bites my thighs
stinging nettles, but it’s hers so I must comply.
She glides in on her icy boundaries, says the plastic
one is for company. Family is a kind of company.
Manhood: the dirty fingers sliding into our plotted
eternity. I’ll burn every uncovered couch set for you
my prince, my aunt, my queen. When I find it I will
kill manhood with fire — it is a tick that poisons
our infinity. Purposeless, nasty, & cruel. Faggotry
is the way to nurture the fire. Faggotry is also the way
to snuff the fire to the steam of memory. Even
a tick has purpose — to be devoured by peacocked
majestics beating their oiled wings to miraculous flight
& we are still fucking. Still thinking of fem prince-
liness coronated by queenliness. Crown placed, sword
sworn by auntie. Watching ticks pop on the match.
Temple Grandin is a Goddamn Slaughterhouse
in sliding glass door
popped out the groove
audible halo of ice
of loved wunderkind
adult nose picker
violet velvet; all fringe
schoolhouse fifth column
never never beloved
anachronist & orphan
pigeon wings. this poem
is a discourse on blue
whales. as if. as ever.
as is everything.
wi. ld. nb. id.
nig. gas. wan. na. try. me.
say. they. can. not. find. me.
in. the. dic.