Tahjia Brantley

LIKE EFFY STONEM

The way she’d go stupid     how her olfactory loved : : : white spangles : : :  how she didn’t budge
    at the tallest stoning     how she             mourned the freeze           of her Pappy       warts  
how she lived                     as Virgin Wishbone   sloped towards         the masculine major
flaunted                                 her reddest     issues                                   unfortified & uncalcified,

a Keane-eyed       emergency,         I dirge her          early ozone          I dirge her green heels  
                 in my closet’s back                        how she ate rates slurped slurs

overripe               the hottest rot                  she’d unlock          her avatar                           lamette to her head

more recorder than girl 
our love like Chernobyl

I'd catch her concave       dreaming about me         about the feminine minor,               thumb in mouth
catch her             legs tartine          at the gazebo     for a boy                            with brown crescents as
fingertips

she slicked           for wheels           for meals            for spirits
but rarely  for       me


RING

I test the marriage
               band on
my Michelin container
               it fits like a glove 

My stitches         drop
I hear the oldest intrusive:

cloak myself  prairie;

Leave my beauty           the canines

              on the dresser

Mute the charm go meek
go shoegaze      go garlic scape

File the desire
until it dusts,                         urn it 

*
One day              I was bad
I franked              all three of
sister’s  mouths

my father,            strange Watchdog
he took  every tinsel         he 

banned Mica     banned Ruby Woo

only Aloe        only Shea, 

for the             rainbow  rates



RING


I profile  your wife           try to hide
behind a            Mexican coke    I
try to     wear her eyes   I try       to

wear her family’s eyes   I try
to          wear     the gallerist’s      eyes

I see myself      Bacchante          I see
myself                impish I see myself

romantic mercenary       I hear their voices
can’t master     my mind’s track                can’t

stop being         Rambutan            girl can’t
stop the warp                    can’t stop         the glitches

I tell her                I’m so                   Poppy here
my vision             is Kaleidoscope she says

drink     your coke            exhale the intrusive         RGB

*
Infinitely               I swim in             our gradient       A decade
of          violet links           exponents           of           salt & pepper

decorate             your scalp           Should               we usher   an apologia
for heart spangles          Is it obvious          is it spored     how        I dreamt

my mouth           grew a cervix                    woke up colicky,  asking for it



LOVE ISLAND (2021)

Barbie epidermis bone white filler 
mouth mugging Tanned Boygirl 
Girlboy Musical Chairs of the Heart
Black girl placeholder Not Real Not
Real crying on telly Blonde bottled
looks like she’s from the Virgin Suicides
Veneered sobering Black boy gold
Pedestal Everyone looks past the
Locked character girl phantomized,
Unpickable like a tree with a mile
of roots, Unfuckable like there’s no-
thing between your legs, Bermuda
Triangle Girl I am crying because I know.


LEMME FREAK (OUTRO)after Lil Dicky


My full heft- sprawled Stellaluna - My queried boomerang-
I adore your vabbing- could bottle it- your bash versus my brash-
keep it suspended-            let scleras taut electric- What’s good? - ASL?-
Are you cyborg like Vanessa- are you-
viral?- Are you quick to raw?- It’s your brain- that oils- our surest helix- 
We don’t have to machine- but I might clog- Ingenue-
I crowned you on Myspace- hoping to connect- hoping you’d reject the bad-
alphabet- Be more lark than leather           -my throttle is imperfect-my rain is profuse-
I’m small-so the side tussle shrinks my ruler- if not Vanessa, then tablets? My pre-
rain is Phelps- also- about your storm- how do you glitch- should I DJ-I don’t mind-
tutelage-I don’t mind batteries- need to screenshot- your backface- They’ll hate-
say you turned me Tumbleweed- but it’s my nomenclature’s print: Be-loved-
and I know I’m Usain- should we slow- should we dam-
what if we shot trouble- 
I’m talking a eighth of an hour- but I won’t stampede- we’ve got twinned-
red cups- so try your loudest signal- I’m awful at this- you’re lanugo-
fine- What’s your night?- My cube has cierges- stale Nonpareils- much
older than us- Ingenue- could you be my rescue- could we share a love-
jar- first let me trial- let me trial- please let me trial- we could marry-
our best confetti- we could make Bailey Hyphenated-Lastname- we could
blubber- what’s your name?- don’t touch my Chinese leftovers- we’ll talk-
bounds- and for the record- your storm is guaranteed-
the lowest makeout- so I understand the barter- yes I love manual-
occupations- over labial- maybe that’s God in my head again-
wondering what I deserve- the most sensitive tubing- not a complaint-



Tahjia Brantley is a Jersey-born poet, a Maharishi dropout, and a Workshopper. Their work appears in dykesday (2022), Annulet Poetics, and elsewhere. You can find out more about them at tahjia.online.