some day

your animal toes

will turnip out of soil

legs branching in

and out

stalks stringy

your mouth

an artery

choking

in loam silt sand

miracle of your body

a squash with a hard rind

each morning a mourning

of pruning with fingers dug in

the beet your heart soaking

and seeping ravishing red

like a radish it’s not always

the sprout of what becomes

but the drift wood of what

emerges elbows edging

the garden beds

I was enough

without the rocks

which crimped an

Shirt Off, By the Lake

my left nipple scab, undone
like a snakeskin, a chrysalis
held on by a couple threads
before slipping off,
sensationless.

As a trans guy I feel an affinity to Ken. No body hair? No male genitalia? Parted hair? Fashionable outfits? And the undying belief that women are wonderful? Sign me up!

So, I donned my best Beach look (this wasn’t hard: I already own a matching, patterned swim-trunk, button down combo) and showed up ready for two hours of Ryan Gosling as an unproblematic sidekick and a rare male icon.

Before I go any further, I must make something very clear. Unlike some other men, I do not need a movie about