top of page

Colette Arrand is a transsexual poet from Detroit, Michigan. She is the author of The Future Is Here and Everything Must Be Destroyed (Split Lip Press 2019) and Hold Me Gorilla Monsoon (OPO Books & Objects 2017). She is the co-host of Gear Switch, a podcast about the fashion of professional wrestling, and runs Fear of a Ghost Planet, a zine press. She can be found on Twitter @colettearrand.

1 poem

by Colette Arrand



tell your children

that music is only

a weapon in the right


hands. tell your

children any machine

can kill fascists: a guitar,


a voice, a trans woman’s

hitachi magic wand.

true, there was a video game


where you rescued

aerosmith by shooting cds

at the people who abducted


aerosmith, but let me say

that a trans woman’s orgasm

is more important than


aerosmith, more wonderful

than most music. i don’t care

how heavy the riff is, i don’t


care which trans woman,

i don’t care if the cd you shoot

to rescue aerosmith is danzig


by danzig, which is the cd

i would shoot if i had the

money for cds or the kind


of heart that allows a person

to shoot another person.

once, my father took me


out to the woods to try

out his new handgun.

what i didn’t anticipate


was how easily the trigger

gave, like the guns attached

to arcade games but more


solid, more consequential.

i could see the hole the bullet

left in the paper (it was not


clean) and could picture

the bullet traveling until

it came to rest in something


living, and i have not

pulled a trigger since.

though it’s true that a machine


like a gun might kill a fascist

more easily than a trans woman’s

shuddering in the night,


the world is full of machines

and some work more secretively

than others, more fruitfully,


at least, than a white woman

handing a cop a pepsi

at a protest rally. when they wrote


the song i’d like to buy the world

a coke, i wonder if nazis

were included in the world.


probably not. it isn’t pleasant

to think of coca cola and Nazis

co-existing. it isn’t pleasant to think


of nazis, but they exist, just as sure

as the music of aerosmith exists.

it is hard for me to hear the word


“mother” in a voice that isn’t

danzig’s, without the imperative

that follows. my mother listened


to harder things than danzig,

so she never told me anything

about him until my sister


got into the misfits, about whom

she was unphased. we believe

different things about the degree


to which a person can be horrible.

i worry that she worries that i grind

out my days hopelessly. but hope


is a relative state of being. my hope

is that the machines i have are enough

to kill a fascist, that if i die


things burn in my wake. this hope

rips through me like the voice riding

the riff of a guitar. sometimes i hear


it until all i can hear is a tuneless

ringing. i have been ready to die

for as long as i have known this song


by danzig. it is not a song about

my mother. being ready and being

willing to die are not the same thing.

bottom of page