Fairy Tale
I am a fat frog in the mud of my hatching.
The clouds looking down are once again laughing.
Golden bug eyes pulse as the wavering heat
shapes everything through clear rising smoke.
Stagnant warmth rattles crisp stalks. They rub
like kindling and I alone am still;
like always I am still alone here.
But miracles. One day I notice the trace
of a slick green tail until it has formed and
it cuts me out of that mire, that soup,
and now I reside in a clear blue sea. (Yet sometimes
I feel nostalgia toward the wallowing.)
Unbound from frog’s legs, I feel again.
I feel my tail being noticed by them.
A mermaid is important sordid currency, you know.
I have a studied body, full glass, and opened doors.
My role among God’s creatures has been restored.
I am everyone’s glorified sparkling whore.
L. S. Asekoff / Jennifer Bartlett / Michelle Brulé / Sean Mullin / Jennifer Stockdale / Rodrigo Toscano / Keith Wahle / Matt Reeck amerikin faggit poim; Ode to /u/
The Last Toast
