To make you nebulous
is a modern way to forget, I suppose
keep it steady is the American Way, I know
yet trespassers remain
and love lingers like a bell.
I exist all the time
try to be mindful of the stir, don’t hush
the ordinary threat of burnt toast, tell me
what has more beauty than a movie night in winter
and flat popcorn on the rug.
Just Do It
but I am not so inclined, I remember
piles of uncooked meat, wet concrete where
I dragged my feet on Mondays, who knew
soft hands could be monstrous.
We let it happen
such a good line of bass, a face
that dances and it haunts me, with laughter
still ringing in my ears, I stole that shamelessly
from someone we both admire.
I am fine
but it is getting harder to sell, and know
the cruelty of a village can be thunder, in June
when rays of moon shine violent and illuminate
the hole at the centre of everything.
Illustration by Inés Estrada @inechi_