Elagabalus & More Poetry



Two bright suns and one black hole,

no tranquil moon around.

No poets with a dick like yours,

No dicks with poetry like mine.


Going brazenly to Dark,

And coming back a different being.

Snakehead to Aphrodite legs-

And its not even breakfast.


The Blindspot


You could see the cracks and glue,

That I thought I hid so well,

Except you still can’t see the truth

I stuff within this shell.


I have so much that you look through,

And that small amount you see

Is just a fraction of what I’ve become

From years of being me.


You see negative exposures,

And a bad case of The Nerves,

With a side of trackmark branches

Reaching out from my fresh earth.




I want to protect you, so I find myself

Eating my wounds to protect you from Hell.

I’m hung out to die like a saint on a cross,

‘Cause he hung me to dry like some old dirty cloth.


But I can’t tell because everyone knows,

‘cause it’s easy to tell all the lies since my nose

grows, and grows, and grows, and grows…

Though, it’s easy to lie about embarrassing lows.


The truths of my tragedy… who wants to hear about those?

Words: Bridget Eagan, Illustrations: Raisa Yavneh