75 Readings | 1 Rating

CENICERO

A two beer mid-afternoon.
A morel tart & a cortado.
Memory of Santiago.
A spray-painted city.
A concrete city.
Where I learn the word for ashtray.
I’m old enough to notice.
Age.
I am not twenty.
Something.
I am sitting next to a cactus.
I am in white shorts.
I watch men on laptops.
We pose and hope.
We correct our posture.
We hide in honeycomb.
We feed a new queen.
We die.
A buzzing scythe.
A black bee.
A tender death.
I’ve touched enough antennae.
Quota filled.
Quoth another harbinger.
A soul’s familiar.
The smartest of dark animals.
A speaking creature
that can be taught.
An ebony feather is luck.
Children of different countries.
Nurtured by mermaids
chopped at with propeller blades.
A fleshy leak of red oil spilled.
A slow kill is less humane.
Like marriage.
Like staying.
A merciless vortex.
Never full.
I retract.
A talon.
A canine.
A violent trained thing.
A releasing of venom.
The need of such a thing.
I am cured of my want
for attention or sex.
I’ve been touched and fucked.
I no longer want.
Other capital O
inhabiting shell fresh.
No astral project.
No avoidance.
No neglect.
My learned
self hatred
wanes.
Rain will rinse.
I will dry.
Posted 02/02/16
Published by Horse Less Press, Nov 2015
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