7
Three poems by Travis tate
a champagne spell
in the night, a bearded kween
presses cold champagne
against my throat and it slides
down my insides. it turns me
into a princess. i don’t need a
crown because from
my head grows antlers. they
are brown & strong but so
delicate & so smooth.
in the days, there is an endless
parade of chubby boys with
nice butts & short shorts.
& thighs and hair on those
Thighs & there’s a way they shift
their weight from side to
side. a princess at her throne.
i survey my kingdom of wires
& small electronic screens.
maybe i will find my next lover here
among the sheets of wind
pressed against my face from the
chubby boys with their shorts
in their endless celebration of
me. i think
i can’t be more open
Than i am now.
heart ripped from its ruby
socket, a gaping hole.
the next night, i press my own
throat against the bottle all alone.
the champagne in my stomach
spoils & the bubbles that turned
me royal are now bugs, black and
winged.
(Cont.)