Call me the pilot of my commute, the belly of the Seven.
Call me something indicative of my milieu, but that also harkens
to a harpooner that sleeps with his implement.
Call me customs agent of the feminine ingression, or mutiny
on the high stilt sea of the Queens el.
Call me pressure dyspepsia as the express barrels plaudits.
Call me jocular recluse: a farm christened, Arrowhead.
Call me unclassified tendril on terra firma, an abomination of superstitious pressured suits.
Call me Knickerbocker Clancy, South Pacific de la Carré, proto-Kipling.
Call me pulpo, octopus ink, Squid Bic, a stylus named epic tome,
didactic almanac, critical percolating rubble.
Call me alcove throne, a dromedary of solace.
Call me passed over for promotion all my lubber life.
Call me paperback flagon, symmetric synthetic, a poetry cabernet.
Call me Captain Apeshit with prosthetic pinepeg from the whirled woods
of Woodside, Corona Park, or Kissena.
Call me pip of mongrel caste, Admiral Deep Pockets.
Call me windlass of my lector time in the ratchet of Jonah’s gaze.
Call me capstan of the "stand clear of the closing doors" intercom command.
Call me something you can make more fancy by adding an "e"
Call me the great, white whale of Shea Stadium before Citifield.
Call me todos los mamones que van al U.S. Open in boat shoes.
Call me pelvis of the world, Ambassador to Foam, Prince of Cetyology.
Call me late for classes at library school on the frigate, U.S.S. Marm.
Call me “dismemberer of my dismemberer” with tact for tit for tat.
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.