Marsh Hawk Review is an online poetry journal sponsored by the Marsh Hawk Press collective. Marsh Hawk Review will appear twice a year, under the revolving editorship of collective members. Each issue will offer a selection of poems solicited by the editor, in addition to new work posted by poets in the collective.

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Sueyeun Juliette Lee

Fanclub

Come on, toke it! Or they maul you, nay?
Sun of a gun, aren’t I cut? Or
it’s just a touchy walk. Are you my nina, cushy taxi, my M.O.? No?
Can’t she hold up carrying a MELODY?

Talking gets us more of it. We made a
hero assign gay dogs
midget pockets. Denigration, mate!
Gotcha. Caught YOU! No matter, yo.

Sebastian’s kite’s a
sexy goner. Tie your
SUB-muerde sass
back, man. Night yo-yos

dark agent asides.
Softly, cut the marrow, night. You aid me.

Terror abashed, am I not like a washed up
musical, a cantata cooks go hammer jammer day or night?
Soul, denied.

*****

Clunky Five


Sure, she gotta Sunoco. Sunny kitty had two

mushrooms. Let’s take ‘em in water so no one can watch the nation sag. Hear. You


assure she matters some. Assign his shininess art.

Must you heat up those chiquitas? Sunken walker, you need neither take


caulk or knee his kibbutz anew. Cut the boat

back, tack up Mao in a washing machine’s dock.


Cold that shit, yo.


You’re hammered, mebbe broken. Mama needs

sake to go to synagogue. No way! Yo, she t-shirt may

fuss a gradient.

You’re hairy submarine, man. Nay,

tarry, carry roe. Now. So she suns a gun--no woman, de nada.


Cold cock and row! Knee high bikinis can cut the bad

bukkake down, man. Mo’ gimmes, wha? Ocean! Ow, ducky!


He beats kicks or to the canoe! Cut a baby!

Gimme that morbid war western. The key.


Go wash that, yo.

Grave, go wash that, yo.

Oh my, go wash that, yo.


*****


Flashback


Cyber makes me climate samples upon candy onions by

government corgis. Ana decorates my

token ass, sunken backwards as


Sasha technically ups the kitchen. Send men! Soaked Canada

cusses at a token nuke. The nuke tote,

token hands shaken, beaucoup wassup.


(sore children

(sexy rides

(you can have shit on a wino hoagie


Smudge, cuz fuckin’

mini cues gotta go. God, I guess you sat there

sucking your megasaurus

annoyance. Ain’t no mirror gonna flashback.


Smoothie, cuz fuckin’

minute keys gotta get shit set

so you can gaze or, uh,

no? He’ s no more a go. Flashback.


Summer caves forgive

many gooey cargos. How I wish you sat there

so you could make up sorry

ennui nomini. Go. Flashback.

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