__________
Gawkers II.
Circling back to the 6th moon of Saturn
And sweaty boobs swaddled in silver suits.
At the right time, how the capsule rotates.
What color do seas of iced methane give?
What can cocks do in zero gravity?
In the national interest and beyond.
Xenon vapor envelopes the module
All the trusty bolts and triple sealants
All vertebrae, clavicles, and sternums
Tumbling over to get a different look
For all humanity—or none at all—
For the ambition driving the mission:
Steep, blue icy cliffs that have no story
Rainbows of pink diamond dust telling it.
_________
Purposeful
The story is actually the same one
You know, pupils, glutes, all appendages
Moving in concert, a sense of purpose.
And come to learn: the will itself is willed
Shamelessly without purpose, a dark void
(It’s hard to describe, likely not worth it)
A vacuum from which all places emerge
And from that, ceremoniously, we’re born
Agitated, bogged down with purposes
Or, if you prefer, sparked up by purpose
The preference itself willed by some order
Perhaps the sun, that default “prime mover”
Spanked into being, without story, purpose.
How does one go on? Or, how the hell not?
_______
Glaciers
Say one thing that’s true, like “the sun burns hot”
And, by that act, the whole world is lit up.
But that doesn’t mean meaning flows smoothly.
But, let’s give it a whirl: glaciers don’t fuck
Well, that’s a relief! That many less cares!
That is, if glaciers, were like nation-states
In the pull of one empire or other
(National (glacial) culture on the prowl
Sometimes slowly, other times, less slowly)
They’d have their own poetry, and standards
And of course, standard breakers, chunks of ice
Wandering in the middle of nowhere
A piece of something true, super horny
A bit desperate, outlandish, but on point.
_______
Cat Lady
Roiling poltergeist, the lady inside
The nation, welling up, about to burst
But hasn’t yet, as ever, this cursed tense
Unnerving these Cotton Mather offshoots
Remainders of politickers, at dusk
The moon sliding down the earth’s curvature
Murkiness oozing spells charming the hours
Into very “targeted” speech acts, “hey”
Eve whispers, at balmy sunrise, “Adam,
‘You’re so so protective, you’re like my dad’
—is that what you like to hear, Adam? Huh?
—do you wanna screw me, Adam? No! Yeah!
Of course you do! Of course you do! (oh yeah)
Eeeeverybody wants to screw the cat girl!”
______________________________________________________________________________________________
Rodrigo Toscanois a poet based in New Orleans. He is the author of twelve books of poetry. His latest books are WHITMAN. CANNONBALL. PUEBLA (Omnidawn, 2025, National Poetry Series finalist, NYPL best books of 2025). The Cut Point (Counterpath, 2023), The Charm & The Dread (Fence, 2022). Forthcoming is Salvage Nation: 100 Sonnets (Winter Editions, fall 2026). His Collapsible Poetics Theater was a 2008 National Poetry Series winner. His poetry appears in over 25 anthologies, including Best American Poetry and Best American Experimental Poetry. Toscano received a New York State Fellowship in Poetry and won the 2019 Edwin Markham poetry prize. He works for the Labor Institute in conjunction with the United Steelworkers. He's been on the board of the New Orleans Poetry Festival since 2016.