ed. Bailey Cohen-Vera

Mathilda Cullen

Mathilda Cullen is a poet and translator. Her published works include Stanzas for Four Hands: An Ophanim (with Dominick Knowles); Illyric Elegies, a Belladonna* chaplet; all i'd drool as thanks, a homophonic translation of Sappho’s fragments in prose (forthcoming from Bottlecap Press), and Vormorgen: The Collected Works of Ernst Toller. Her poetics revolves around dissociatia, associations, and frenetics, while her translations typically focus on queer writers from East Germany.

excerpt from all i’d drool as thanks

all i’d drool as thanks. i lie a clueless patronym, date a man, lip is a cruise. arm up ass is strummed through grass. all a doozy, and at dusk o these eyes a pit in sight. a garment tomb naked o my dick what a mood. name me. ask and i may sing upon those thighs. carry on. genital damp i made a mess. ignite in death. i lie in prose, turn me around, tie me to any old rung. no eyes lap up aural lipstick loss. fill my name fate: this enough, percolate a sea. to tell omen as sigh of day. nudes to names. if america’s a tossed ocean prose the road take a loose eye & tie. days can blow away. omen eratta. prose open. my knife in poetry. he was caressed & morphed. done. i meant it: air gone, i a piss sew. keep it cool. i cry on top. you’ll a boy say, take a rope and go. take me and i’ll crack open. stain a kiss again. am a mess, take again. arm in a knot, tied tight. pollinate. pull on my cock i’ll lament a little. death in a photo, zoom in. i can’t take it on alone. prole lip, a naked lake on the law. grinning i, to bask in a dress, panting, kneeling, eyes alight. am anchored in a state, it empties us. caress out the broken sappho. all i came in glossed to letters. the language pities us. a pace in errata. tone to tone, o this map of days deepen politically. call us human, tuned. am a tomb of diamond, frenulum teasing, lick it. i feel anchored, am a rare prose. caress all day, they let us in the ass to take a fist. angle is changed. all ass is ass, perforate catastrophe. poet kills all her matter. eyes are closed. gun i can’t aim. a parting i can’t, i posed in dress, probably 6 or 7 verses are missing i can’t lie.column 1 has been erased. a new mortem is death. orchi a promise, say nay, tension kept all in. pedestrian dandies. i’ll let a mess, ass too wet a mess. cusp of leaking. poet is smitten. my persimmon effeminate cock, a writ omen. call us a sound, a damp elegy (call us). a name, soon a seithr, is it out there, poet. peer us, all a famous cum in aïda. a mess made muse. catch a feeling, linger. an opened poet. erase a day. o the moss. faked a coup. tell us a name, a nip is seen. a lake lays against you. take this to daphne. i’m too porous, the poets say, i’ll eclipse you, my lines a forest out there. my lips a map of dyke names. macaron hello. hello. a lake in the taiga. all a kiss i do. am eclipsed face, cut my daisy fate. go on, cut his cock off. let a mess, i’ll lick it right up. i’m a lamb, dame son of men. a day lingers on. tame me, tell me to leak. entire names i took. earfuck. a pussy rife with you, amor. blaring lobotomized opal lake: o naked sonata. it’s not a name, ass gape, rose tame no more. these days approach a new terror. my zephyr of new music, denouement of raw tone. dick in phantasm prose. out of names, fate. tap a knave, a man on the knee. for no name i have. o my, i’m a stain, a peppered dame, a sappho in a man’s eye: all i’m saying is that alone i sigh. burnt eros. none echo so poem. face dappled your palm. no antidote. total noun austerity. men look at this easy mouth and part it. to fill a loose tone a day never is. verses 1-12 cannot be read. you cannot be read. call it a perishing (terror in a leaf of prose). catch us ajar, meaning a toss up. they’re coming in dead prose, deaf noise. my tranny art is clipped. you lie down, lips open, anchored. why don’t you whip a kiss in prose, tame aphroditos. aeromax trade, cannons on the periphery. couldn’t tame the masses. empty form, sugar door. teeming terror dactyl, lingering. do not make a canto out of this. first lines of ten different poems: entirely empty, no probate. you put a name phantom on me, crown the date. eye culprit, they meant it, sanguine pulpit, music opened up in my friends, periphrasis tight, o let’s buy all of the peace. air was empty, apart from balloons, i’m a noun arrested. tectonic androgynous. i’m a noun, it’s an argument. i’m a noun, and those men’ll pull a mess out. i’m a noun, a big maybe. the new surrounds us. i douse it with my lick. eros deep in me. i carried names far away. pull a chorus of names from a tomb. sew a new protest form. it’s her “i’m a noun” bit, to need a name i’d die glued to me. legs form a sad language. stole the sun. again, appellation. o us. this is a call in the open, autoerotic. it’s my call, at peace cruising in sin. cling against another day. eros’ll let go, get lost in my raw forest. i don’t always kiss the little empty, don’t always climb inside. sappho, i’d take us along the morning, all our legs in pairs, our dicks a stained canto. the old music oughta die. i could write catastrophe, could you rhyme it. ache and reek and spill and kiss then die. our prose is mangled, ekphrastic. am a preposition. men croak in sin, i don’t. no prayers can erase it. a doom awaits us, will let our terror cruise across. maps of lakes glossed over. take me softly. there, upon eros, soon an echo may take me. war came easy, a day at a time, doled out. kiss the noon. all i’m saying is i’m adorable. am a raw baritone, bar moss, bar moss. boy gets lost, paid the fee, lighter ran out. victorious sappho. the whole day is a baton. i oughta know, my lips open in melancholy media. mayday. no one in the femme. muses map the locale. night opens the light, ready to sell the noise.