My mind is playing tricks on me. —Geto Boys Will you miss the lone, stiff mister blue bird ghosting it through a two-light town, in which you raise your chicks or cocks in Gothic dens adorned in old doilies, rooster trinkets, a sweet aphorism, cross-stitched & hung above the […]
Pequeña Jeanne de Montreal este gesto se ha vuelto inútil las casas se han vaciado y un bosque crece dentro de ellas entre los visillos se asoma un zorro levantando polvo hacia la luz y aunque se acumulen estas imágenes unas sobre otras no podrían dibujar el lugar de nuestra nostalgia ahora mismo tú […]
Little Jeanne of Montréal, this gesture has become useless the houses have been bared and a forest grows within them amid lace curtains a fox approaches brushing up dust towards the light and even though these images accumulate one over the other they remain unable to portray the setting of our nostalgia right now […]
The man who paints points to the wall tells me about hunger and the exiles the man who paints shivers in colors he spews out his life when he coughs / spits blood Vallejo is everywhere squalor is red when it hits the wall when they cough it up it peers out the chest […]
With your left hand in your jacket pocket you stroke that gun at night as if it were a woman or a wish Translated by Catherine Jagoe “Mario” first appeared in the collection En la boca de los tristes (Montevideo, LoQueVendrá, 2014). You can read and listen to the […]
I am drawn to Phaethon’s friend, Cygnus. His change seems at least half-willed, half the evolution of guilt. For $1,000 you can have your own genome sequenced to find what difference exists between you & the marsh bird you might wish to become. North of Chambers Street, I sat in the planning chief’s […]
Descending the gray nudge of Market Street I am heavy in my shoes, a little sack-bent. The dryness in my throat is familiar but not comfortable, my body is familiar but not comfortable. Most openings are too small to enter, but upstream and tired, I fall in […]
The bees are dying toward Beverly Hills The bees are dying into the sun At midnight it is day the bees In Santa Monica our oranges Fall sideways toward no beginning the Bees are dying America in the teeth By waxlight our bees brim up From no well they have Left […]