How does one mourn
a not-dead, a once-here-but
not here?
I make an offering,
mango crescents,
powdered moon,
dipped one in dusk,
Songs of morning doves
revealed during the lockdown.
Words like vapour from skies redeemed
Enchanted from the start
The nectarous rill of romance.
A perfect Magic.
I look out of the small kitchen window
above the table,
and saw the skin of your elbow
hanging from the outline
of a phantom shard glass.
re: your temporal lobe/circular breath/first words as
typography/the eye slant/your name/your heritage/how
we cradle our Mother Tongue/the way your back slouches
when dreaming
It’s always the drive to the airport
when you look at me
merging concern from
the corner of your right eye
in my direction […]
In this poem, I am an outlaw / though what do
I know about headstones or hemoglobin / my
father promised me that Morricone captured the
most important feature of existence / the whistle […]
My feet
Are wearied and jaded
As a pair,
one incites the other […]
trans·gen·der | \ tran(t)s-ˈjen-dər, tranz-\
Definition of transgender
1. a : of, relating to, or being a person who is vulnerable : see OTHER
// like a fetus or an orioles’ egg it is fragile & frequently unborn […]
We, of the overbearing bosses,
the sovereign bosses
hovering over our desks,
we, just looking to advance our careers,
or seeking guidance, a leg up, […]
Like a whisper caressing the back of our necks / kissing a line connecting sporadic wisps of hair / that’s how we feel it / a promise of a home we ever got to claim / made from bricks the color of earth / as deep and rich and brown as our skin […]
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