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April 26, 2022

3 Poems

Jillian A. Fantin



to fairness, justice, and your pussy—

that is, the right to pack our boxers


as we gather together

on this party platter of pseudo-porcine plasma,


i’m reminded of how it feels

to step on a curled-under brown-n-crusty maple leaf,

but because it was after a rainstorm we slept through,

it folds into a wet envelope

beneath your wellies.


oh, it feels

like Junji Ito drilling then filling abandoned molars,

silent film sewing circles and El Debarge’s falsetto.


a waddling flock of maybes

threatens our honeycomb hippodrome,

but i must riff our praises: we matched

their violet coughs with lice,

philosophies with Socratease,

Aris-thot-le and the Haus of Lyceum


yes, i AM

a casting couch dying of clown lung

held together by mushroom gills


and yes, i AM


with tooth worms

unrealised orgasms

and tumours made of Skittles


but let us celebrate!

come come,

shave your scapulas into unblessed altar bread

and scoop up some strawberry-fig chrysotile.

gorge yourselves! then blow up

your bladders into balloons,


and push any two twins together


to make a queen





Portrait of the Artist as The Denny’s Wicche

after Buffalo ‘66


i’m painting my nails/with pistachio crumbles/it’s the closest/to ice blue eye glitter/the closest

/to Christina Ricci on tap/in tap/class in/bowling alleys/in jump click and scissor steps/some badgoodfella/says he’s moonage nightdreaming/that’s just/a sleep/i’m painting/a motel slip/left behind/bathroom carpet imaginary/i’m painting help me love/minidisc areolas/gerbil pouchjaw /eyelashes that curl/the wrong way/uppercut dilated pupils/moonpie child/dance shoes/chasse payphone cardigan chills/i’m painting/you/in well-fitting sports bras and a black puffer jacket/

drinking oat milk hot chocolate/with smashed avocado lips/i’m painting/the new menu please

eat/my heart is a lofthouse cookie/and teach me to craterfunk waltz,/moonchild/in a milkwhite gown?/my nails are dry but i’m still/painting the fluttony and the pudding crust/my pudding crust moonpiechild/ellipsis orbiting/in glasstic beads/i’m painting and she’s sucking/Sisyphus/that is,

his jawbreaker/you think it keeps getting smaller and smaller but why would it and how could it

and the happiness is in the fucking                          i have cider and witnesses who claim that’s a lie—



Bitchin Betty Thinks Lindsay Lohan’s Dead

after "Bitchin Betty" by Kate Luther


   highheeling up tinfoil calves, corseting lobster claw, you’re potential,

    a pescatarian Lesbian Power Authority minus feet plus a baby

     doll that blinks the second it falls backwards yeah you’re hair all acetone

    wearing chests like hats yeah peach cloche knockers, sequin nipples

   splooged about the bed like duct tape wallets doin the laundry dissolve

  in Limited Too denim get up get out you’re the cactus, small and never

 propagated, Bella Swan brought to the westest wettest coast you move on

move on wiggle through the mesh, shakeweight the neon orange fungi

Miss Ma’am there’s no doubt you’re the sexiest nosebleed I ever did see,

a Divine designed toy poodle fencing chameleons with cocktail swords.

 you’re duochrome tinsel

   and im all wrong in scallop studded Cartier

  frosted glass tastes like jalapeño Pringles if you bite hard enough you’re

   right you Hollywoulda coulda shoulda filled your lungs with rib sequins,

    gold curtain tassels, wet socks, tiramisu and Corinthian column shavings

     bitchin betty bitchin betteigh bitchin betti

      it’s all the same in your bitchin

       bette davis eyes. with you eyes are just eyes are just eyes im just eyes

      eyes too thin for a light shag too fat for a shag rug you ask from your bed

      for Harrods sourdough why did you crouton the Roquefort runaways,

     nightstand pearlgnashed curbsides, featherdust the sill-latent peppercorns

    in eight ply ostrich. so do i plastic for your presents, Keira Knightley

   satin green, acrylic pleaser heel til you let me in let me in your bed

         don’t wanna grow up

   can we pushpop clit?

                                                                        i wanna get out

disco finger?


  if i you’ve got lips

 at least let me kiss kiss



take me away