𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕣π•ͺ π•šπ•Ÿ π”Έπ•£π•šπ•–π•€ / Mariah Carey leaves a weed dispensary at 1am in Aspen wearing a 7 foot gown with custom appliques


Two poems by Jonno Revanche

 


𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕦𝕣π•ͺ π•šπ•Ÿ π”Έπ•£π•šπ•–π•€ / Mariah Carey leaves a weed dispensary at 1am in Aspen wearing a 7 foot gown with custom appliques

all my inner narratives tell of nuance gendered

protagonists preventing the abstraction of realness, characters 

casting a keen eye into the simmering 

dark of familiar places, first the unexplored, even the discernibly 

slick unknown, zipping up 

skirts so tight they pinch the surface / slapping, then sudden 

firmness of the pleather as it clinches ephemera, the ricochet of boots claiming 

empty skin / tactfully claiming rewards / they are all there 

waiting to out, i become them in coalitions of passing, hair 

down specifically for the occasion and hide rubbed 

raw. Shea butter beauty tutorial. They manifest the future through the rips of Amazon 

wishlists and eager daddies / extricated momentarily from a world unwanting of them pulled 

together from heroes I know / a politic so practical / glam textiles that bite, that 

don’t yearn for civility / brilliance only girl / bring meaning to new non-linearity

And power………...

These girls imagine themselves placed 

in the drive of music clips, (not just video vixens) where they’re up 

Front mama / finally the architects / nails so long they reach satellites / At night, nobody 

can see you from miles 

Away / still the cloak of that hyper-sensuality, the silence 

a blank slate, becomes it’s own glad stadium



♦ ♦ ♦


Usagi

When nothing gets

left over, just β€œwinging it” out here,

I page my friends via dialectical

telepathies, tapping into conversation….


Where is that voice?

Are we hiding in here?

Can we make this solidarity

real, despite magical everything?

If you hear me right,

you must be stuck underneath

the arcade again….

you know the one….

Moon sign communicates with

sun sign, aiming for atonement.

/

Lazily wielding my sailor sceptre,

longing for recognition β€” no, really.

It’s tough to be….so bitchy…..

and so incapable of schoolgirl imagery…..

Gently, we feel ourselves out,

old me/new me in twine, drifting in circumstance, 

in destinies, the tuneful written pace of Luce 

Irigaray for instance β€” catching the outer

with the inner. I’m right back 

in the lonely moment β€” and it makes

me wanna cry.

With no one else around, I learn

to comfort myself β€” but it would

be better if my friends 

were here….

I’ve been flattened

by the force of conspiracy, superficiality,

hegemony, money-making schemes,

and I have this to say:

Astrology….

Is an actual science…...

You skeptical

little assholes

/

I need to be more

aware of my

responsibilities

as a princess

 
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About the author

Jonno Revanche is a writer, shitposter and multi-disciplinary artist that creates work about distance and the difficulty in finding belonging. They are currently living in Sydney, as a settler on Gadigal land.

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