James D. Autio

Meleed the Jams

Like the leaking
in content
imperious bliss,
we sacrifice
mingle rug
to hush,
fray nervous edge,
silken undulants,
puckered enclave,
dissipate calm surrounds,
and melee plums
onto disable
Fill a tray with cake.


Across magnetic fields
I float like loafback
to you: into your nook
undulations. You’re gloved,
over workboot caked with mud
at the prow. Yet again you take my load
as blue baubles and errata overflowing
the barrow, spreading the rubber
of my overtaxed uniwheel.
You ease back my worn hat
against your neck’s valley crook,
release my steam valve,
jimmy the fliptop latch.
Calloused of shovel and pickern,
still you reassure and coddle
(as with hollow fluffbunnies
expelled from the aftercloud)
my throbbing and mottled putty.
I’ve been tainted too many ways
to allow me dissolve into you, but
you’re strong of arm and warm.
I bubble up a little in your hand.
Like with jelly in a jar, you ease fingers
into the crack of my corpus colossi.

Powder Balm

I powder the balls, web cob cadge a lift.
Plush hymen on me between the bullocks,
and snow whitehead sole blot on supplejack.

Boot shoe, and I pebble under quilt.
Squint dote nook while hops abound, petals
rose, tip the concierge. Girl, you can jig!

But melon belly forms mind fungus mire.

Freed from the fjord of your legs,
ragwaisted and hatless, I trundle out
a sullen auger glut under sundown strand.

I’m longing for the caul and disregard,
even ingle-huddled for the hag.

James' work has appeared in Venereal Kittens, Yellow Medicine Review, Tryst, Thieves Jargon, and other fine journals. More of James' gentle lullabies are forthcoming in The Drunken Boat, and The Huge Underpants of Gloom. Though he hasn't smoked cigarettes in quite some time, James is thinking he'd like to spark a butt.