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2 poems
by Ari Lisner

Ari Lisner is a transmasculine poet, journalist, and researcher based in Brooklyn. Their writing has been featured in GQAllure, Love Injection, Lowly Dirt ChildPan Pan Press, and Funny Looking Dog. Their work aims to capture queer living, intimacy, and culture, often against the backdrop of New York City and its iconography.


Bluet 1

My moods and blue powder coated boogers on my COVID swab or handing girls glistening Advil LiquiGels the morning after trying to quell the blue as well as the sky when it looks solid against the Ridgewood brick during any old golden hour and me just posing basking in it from my bed in my LL Bean robe with my name embroidered to it because navy blue is the official color of boyfriends and I’m  holding up a Blue Frost Gatorade to the sun and it tastes like what the sea should probably taste like and I bought on my Chase Sapphire card all to spill some on my royal blue rug


Bluet 2

Though I keep yammering on that I should be pushed in front of moving traffic

I am really at brunch

We’re being ridiculous


Poached eggs

Lamb shank tagine

Squeaky halloumi cheese

In fucking Williamsburg


Bluet 3

When you come around my fingers

I can usually tell


When you leave

I am not devastated


You’ll text to say it’s gorgeous out and I say

You’re my weather woman

With the latest


I roll up in the rental car and you have an almond cortado for me
which sets the tone: nutty, mature, indulgent

You’re dead set on a three hundred dollar lamp

your hand is on your hip when the Jewy shop boy pulls it out in the open

we watch him tighten its joints with a teeny tiny screwdriver

It’s hot to me to play your errand boy or your sexy son or your faithful boyfriend there

with your purse hanging on your forearm and you
making big decisions

maybe you turn back at me and maybe you don’t

We effectively communicate and
hit all the green lights

make gorgeous time

and drive the rental car into the city to bring things

back to stores in bliss


All the way to the Crate and Barrel on Broadway to return some utensils

then up to the second floor
and you’re in there peeing


I wait like men wait and I touch the towels

weirdly they’re rough

then I drag my finger across the plasticy furniture

It’s all a hundred thousand dollars


So I think about marrying you in the Crate and Barrel

and check myself out in the big mirrors

We are simply running errands but it’s beautiful 


Feeling mayoral and might have queered it

I’m a one schtick pony
Galloping again

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