Laura Madeline Wiseman
These poems are from a poetry manuscript I’ve been working on, entirely devoted to my imaginary cock, a shorter version of which is forthcoming in late 2009 from Dancing Girl Press, My Imaginary. Other poems from this series appear here in Poemeleon, Feminist Studies, Barn Owl Review, Bird Dog, Karamu, Los Angeles Review, Zoland Poetry, and in the anthology Eating Her Wedding Dress: A Collection of Clothing Poems (Ragged Sky Press, 2009). Gender informs my work on many levels, but in writing this particular series I’m considering how the English language is gendered and sexualized. So much of language pushes us to gender, to do gender in our poems, and too, to sexualize, to do sexuality in our poems. I’m interested in the ways a poet can resist this. For example, in this series I’ve purposely avoided using gendered pronouns “he/his/him” or “her/she/hers” or the oddly condescending and inhuman “it.” A difficult task initially, but something which has begun to transform how I write beyond my imaginary cock. I was an invited poet in a panel of queer writers in a lesbian literature class where the students read our work and came to class prepared with questions. In answering their questions, the intricacy of speaking about my imaginary cock without gendering my imaginary cock and without offering gendered pronouns was renewed sharply in my mind. It was similar to the careful thought one uses while speaking in another language, a language in which one knows, but not well enough to speak without deliberating over each word and phrase.
Incense Smoke, Invocation, and Imaginary Cock
Prep: 45 min to 3 days Ceremony: 1 hr, 15 min
Yield: will vary depending on type of imaginary cock called for
Dressing
1 hat fedora, stocking, baseball, or bowler, avoid dunces or pork pies
2 items in leather (gloves, vest, or jacket, recommended)
3-4 classy objects (e.g. suit, tie, pocket square, cuff links, wallet chain, large belt buckle, sunglasses, tattoos, etc.)
1 wand, cane, cigarette, or cigar
Sacrifices and Offerings
3 toys (naked ken doll, fraggle, terminator, He-man, or Han Solo)
1 icon photo (Elvis, Marlon Brando, James Dean, or other similar)
1-2 dildo or vibrator, medium
1-2 boxers or tighty-whities
1 lube (16 oz)
1 harness, cock ring, or condom, if desired
Sanctuary
6 sticks of incense, nag champa preferred
13 pillar candles
1 libation (32 oz)
3 pussycats, or other familiars
1 CD, cock rock ballad preferred
1. Before entering sanctuary, add dressing. Fasting is optional, though preferred by some.
2. In a large room arrange sanctuary. Light candles and incense. Allow cats to mix and congregate freely within room. Set music on repeat. Drink libation. If awkwardness has set in, add extra cup of libation.
3. If imaginary cock does not appear, repeat. Invocation may take several tries before successful cock arrives.
Bar Smoke & Cock Fights
Ye shall have game enough, I warrant ye: Every man’s cock shall fight.
~Charles Robert Leslie Fletcher
Never ever say the dildo accidently turned itself on.
~Chuck Palahniuk
At night I stalk my imaginary cock.
I give chase through six subway stops
to a bar basement of cheap, stiff booze.
I climb through a low small window
to crouch behind a cask of corn whisky.
In shock I spot my imaginary cock.
A throng of cocks jostle ball-to-ball.
One barks, The first rule of cock fight is…
to a bar basement of smoky, slick booze.
In unison the mob shoves and roars.
Two imaginary cocks step up to clash.
Will one knockdown my imaginary cock?
This pair slams
into concrete, taps out.
Then my cock fights, tries to stay hard
in a basement of pricks drunk and loose.
Blood oozes at each blow and thwack.
The opponent cock blocks upper jabs.
I cry as I watch my imaginary cock
brawl in a basement of cheap, stiff booze.
My Imaginary Cock Dream
In the dream I sit behind the driver as we cruise along the rocky coast. The car is full. We all wear quilted jackets, mittens, and hats with ear flaps. The sky is clear and cold. Up and down the cliffs are dozens, then hundreds of imaginary cocks. Their bodies nestled among the pines. The driver weaves inland. I catch the imaginary cocks clustered along bluffs. They double in size, stand with heads up, and amble toward bark-sided cabins. The people scatter and bolt doors. The driver charges the imaginary cocks. We give chase, but never hit any. When it’s over, the imaginary cocks have slaughtered many of us. We gather around a tranquilized one with a white tuft of hair and an eye that weeps. As we stroke the thick sides, the imaginary cock pants.
Laura Madeline Wiseman is the recipient of the 2009 Academy of American Poets Award from the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, where she is completing her dissertation and teaching English. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Feminist Studies, MARGIE, Arts & Letters, MississippiReview.com, and elsewhere. Her chapbook, My Imaginary, is forthcoming from Dancing Girl Press. Other awards include the Mari Sandoz Award in fiction, the Will Jumper Award in poetry, and three Pushcart Prize nominations. Residences include the Herbert Hoover Artist-in-Residency Program. She holds a BS in English literature and women’s studies from Iowa State University and an MA in women’s studies from the University of Arizona. She reads and writes reviews for Prairie Schooner.