from: SIRENS
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by Ann Pedone
I am in Athens hanging on by a long hormonal string twitching bobbing in the antelope-dark something is sounding deep into my lexicon-mouth my menthol-face my necking-cunt I have only been here for three days and already I have squandered all of my vocables my nymphs have all melted down to the very piss of it and now on the TV they are saying that the king of Athens is dead but I know he was the one who stole my antelope who drank my expired milk who gave me a yard of beautiful black taffeta and now I am left here in this very bed with nothing to do but count my oysters I am in bed in Athens I am moving at the pace of low-estrogen of pre-semantic glitter white noise machine my canned voice is in the bathroom taking a shower so many pills caught in the throat foul and then blogging again am I thick-thighed full of semen I could lay back and dream about sciatica the afterlife the way it would feel to build a republic which then would become my wee hours my tube of personal lubricant my small furry pink salmon In Athens they are televising my orgasm they are hand-delivering my frozen meats listen put your head out the window can you hear the antelope-sounds of the city the sounds are moving at the pace of low-estrogen at the pace of sexual negligence the sounds are making me antelope-cum all over the sheets all over this lexicon-floor I want to take its sounding into myself I want its horny stutter its vernacular pigment I am this sounding’s fat Venetian I am this sounding’s last stool pigeon At dinner in Athens he is looking straight into my menthol-face I am reaching down and pulling a new alphabet out from between my antelope-legs like all alphabets it is leafy it is low-estrogen it’s searching everywhere for a new menthol-theocracy out of which or in spite of which or beside which or in addition to which or straight down the throat of which or up inside the ass of which I have no alphabet do you have an alphabet I have no estrogen-sounding do you have estrogen-sounding I have no menthol-mouth do you have menthol-mouth I have no afflicted river do you have afflicted river I have no lexicon-hands do you have lexicon-hands I am in Athens I am in a hotel room in Athens I am in the metro in Athens I am in a square in Athens I am under the spell of a spermy materiality I am burning with antelope-malice I am running down the street at the pace of low-estrogen I am taking down the republic I need to find a warm dry place to hunker down I need to ice my theocracy At this point I gather up all of my books off the floor my menthol- underwear my antelope-theocracy and race out to the square I lose myself in a sudden sandstorm I’ve forgotten my shoe size my home address all of the women around me are polluting themselves at the speed of low-estrogen all of my desire I have gnashed down to the bone my mouth and all of my other orifices are turned inside-out wedding rings strewn on the ground an air raid siren an ambulance siren I try to raise my canned voice over them vast polluted and virginal Ann Pedone is a writer, book designer, and publisher in the San Francisco Bay Area. SHARE - Issue: 2.1 / October 2026 |