Chocolate croissant eaters anonymous May your passionate true purpose be revealed in your neurotic embryonic bypass, gas-mask placenta I mean nothing by her yours I’s I mean eye like icecream No question We’re not so different We both go to school (in and out) It’s up to you to know purpose What butter, baby I’ll
TagPoem
Light Garden
That was a spooky step Some kind of Marble-magnetism Whirling me like a spinning top A dreidel on warm wood Make a cord I stayed full, a friend close by Repeat an obsession and it becomes a ratio to your world I do not like ratio talk, I think of using either nausea or plums,
End of Decade
(translated from Portuguese) 31 December 2020 Unborn moon of winter: There is no more I to summon you. I’ve passed through the oceanic waters of the continent And see you now – it is summer. The beings who roam and vest Phrases and verbs and ecstasys Live, moon! Live! Like me. The
Speaking Eryngos
The sea burning, the heads of blued Thistles nodding now, You are drift Ing across the dry grassy Field of perception. Above me, Humming with the Softness of hands in mud, Words wing and land, Clutching the branch of hope That this is finally a sign. The ache between the dunes, tilted Towards
I AM – a poem
I am my umbilical cord My mother’s sleepless nights My father’s long drives I am the scent in my mother’s wardrobe The high heels I never fit I am the ingrained institutionalized religion Founded on fear. I am the shame and the guilt The vagina I am the black eyeliner I draw around my eyes
The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far From the Tree
My mother never eats toast on a plate, she holds the bread in her long hands and eats over the kitchen sink. I think these are the moments she prefers, looking out to the garden, morning sun dim and blue and made of all the forgiving in the world easier here in morning’s two-part