What the Atheists Speak Of

The nitrous cloud goes berserk
In the nineteenth century, when the toads
Were writers thinking up Horror—she wounds me
With her pale skin and liquid midsection,
Scarcity is scarce, and I take it from there, holding gripes,
The papers tell it, how the Pope goes pop
Into a new old castle and the people go people.

Sometimes, in the middle of the night, going pee
Nothing happens and nothing again
Happens, and I think this is the emptiness
The atheists speak of, the mirror on the wall
Has no power to come alive and the oranges
Sitting on the kitchen table are black objects
With no goal but to rot.

Alejandro EscudeAlejandro Escudé is the winner of the 2012 Sacramento Center Poetry Award; his first collection, My Earthbound Eye, is due out in late 2013. His poetry has also appeared in Rattle, Phoebe and Poet Lore. Originally from Argentina, Alejandro is an English teacher and lives in Los Angeles with his wife and two kids. When he’s not grading papers or writing poems, Alejandro enjoys birding in the Ballona Wetlands, Bolsa Chica and other beautiful Southern California locales.