jordan anthony

Without My Elders, Without Myself, What Would Queer Even Mean Anyways?

The education: tragedy
on tragedy, a language of dispossession
that some one alleged I own.
Something like Antarctica
to me: frozen, static, and dead.
Save for those questing bodies,
who survived the land,
reporting historic findings:
“we've dug into history’s grave
for you; you know only this.”
I wonder what they ate for breakfast
on the tundra, how they lived
their time on a clear, cruel continent.

Stalling

Chance to be unknown.
Build myself into
a blow-up-doll fantasy
for you.
Unmoored and revealed
in anonymity. The glory
-hole: face
-less and less
seen.