by Javier Bateman
After Milo and Ocean Vuong You are a plate scraped clean. Dog-eared, folded, a ‘come back to me later—please’ sorta guy. He runs his thumb across your back like it is some small thing, like it is nothing at all. Your mouth opens like a wound He says, all smooth and terrible, ‘I am Abel and my brother is Cain.’ And for a moment you can misremember his hand in your hair, the rock orbiting your skull, and how the night overhead was punctured by the white teeth of starlight. Javier Bateman (They/He) is a queer, chronically ill, trans-nonbinary academic and poet living on unceded Whadjuk Nyungar Boodjar. Javier's poetry deals with diverse themes of grief, gender and gender identity, love, obsession and occasionally, Keanu Reeves. In his downtime, Javier is often found at home consuming media about sad cowboys.
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May 2024
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