A Poem by Keenan Teddy Smith
Author: Poetry Editor
June 12, 2019
This week, a poem by Keenan Teddy Smith.
Don’t sing the song, don’t
press the bottom. Don’t watch
it all spill from your lips,
your hips falling amidst jagged
and bitter dead things. As
an option, as his option, though
an option, though his,
though killing all pleasure centers:
death to sex, intimate
relation, and desire; and still
though—do so, and slowly,
eyes peeling skin to reveal your ego
and eagerness to be seen, left
on read, among the bitter dead, know that he’s
bleeding too, behind you. Look back
if you will, stay salty, but, whatever you do
please save your song for yours.
KEENAN TEDDY SMITH is a poet and essayist from Flint, Michigan. For his senior thesis project, he wrote a chapbook of poems and curated images titled Syren. He has published poems in The Shade Journal, The Columbia Review, American Chordata, Foundry Journal, and T: the New York Times Style Magazine. His writings are meditations on Black queer kinships and visual culture.