ABOUT

CONTENTS

EDITORIAL

ARCHIVE

LAGNIAPPE

MAST

SUBMISSIONS

Four Poems
by Jon Leon


THE HOT TUB

I strip and enter a hot tub. Blue tiles line the walls. I drink some vodka from a vodka
bottle. I take a picture of some groupies. I lie back into a lawnchair my head vibrating.
Something like a prism shoots up my spine. I see the sun through a tree in the distance.
Everywhere I’ve ever been is like this. I spill a Bellini halfway blinded by the glare. Then
a stud gets up naked to the waste. He slowly parts with the cloud of immersed bodies. I’m
like what the fuck. This is a surprise.



KOKOMO

The street is lined with shops and trees. A blimp passes by over head. The beach is
covered with tanned bodies. A dolphin’s fin flashes by. I walk up to a hot tub and dive in.
Some people from Parsons are there. Then we are so hot we go up to the air conditioning
unit. It smells like freon and I’m sort of high at this point. I pour an Albarino into some
girl’s American Apparel strapless rouched bodysuit and lightly tongue her asshole.
Basically we’re drunk. All I see is rainbows until I snap out of it. Electronic cars hanging
from the ceiling. We’re in love with steam, sunsets, and déjà vu.



OBSESSION

Better collars. The shape of the sky above The Beverly Hills hotel. Red lights. I look at
my shoes in the lobby of another hotel. Sitting there thinking lucite thoughts on wooden
ships. Replicate the hook in me. Skip the mall for Inside Edition. I’m with Tatiana buzzed
staring at wood paneling in a basement somewhere. 111 to Palm Canyon Drive. Cory
Kennedy eats a pizza. My whole life I’ve lived here. Playing with bamboo.




EVEN DECADES

I’m lounging in a hot tub on the top of a mountain next to the tennis courts overlooking
the entire state. I think about how breathtaking the view is as I sip on Fresca. The water is
a version of serene I have to reorient myself to. Rhonda is across from me and she has the
pinkest nipples I’ve ever seen. Her face is so mellow as her breasts float atop the
undulating jets. I can’t think of a competing bliss. We listen to Kenny Loggins mp3s,
strip, and do it in the clubhouse. Then walk out to the patio and yell beats to the falconer.
She does pilates while I stationary marathon.