King of the Knots

Good mothers and daughters know how
to smile.
Teeth reek remembered
politeness to floss.
Manners commence the Red Women
and Gentlemen to perform
the tainted-Black quickstep
which moves them fast forward-
he with her now
in the back room past
the last mass of the diaspora dance.
She leaks loveless
into her hopeful hands,
a skinny left finger lifts
for a ring to be wed.
Tonight he wins
her home to housewife.
Allowing her to be
a plastic glee of life.

Krishna wears purple lipstick to church
and nervously spins her thumbs.
The sirens lock themselves inside the throat of the organ, calling the goddess by name.
Memories stir like two bodies.
Wet lips whistle soaked sheets that
crescendo before the holy orgasm.
Incense burns and Krishna laughs,
a hymn tightens in the space between
Her thighs, her pride.
By God’s grace, she is still alive!
Humiliation cannot stay here, not even as a refugee.
Why would she need to justify?
A fish never explains it is native to the sea.
It is as natural as the sun’s kiss goodnight to the mountain top.

Dip your fingertips
in my mouth and on my skin
Burn the candle out.


Because the pen ink is Blue, I see Green and Brown irises laced
(smooth with transparent grace).
Because the comfort in your arms was angelic portrayal
(not writing about you would be a betrayal).
Because we are all fragments in the dusk—looking grave
(and returning to them for Love, Eternal Life).
Because Google said our throats throb with existence, blooming as the Rose blooms
(abstaining nothing, embracing the body of Earth that calls it home).
Because the Earth smells like dirt and the clay that molded the bird
(who chirps one echo from San Diego to Portland).
Because the clouds between both skies are written in poetry
(calligraphy of the Heart, the Red Empire).
Because the shadows cast on milky air connect the stench
(of worms to the candle wick.)
Because plagues burn bright
(I hope they apologize for the sickness).
Because I cannot find the room with the soup
(or my mother to heal).
Because longing courts Death.
(how surreal).

I know they say alcohol inhibits decision making,
but I knew before that long-island iced tea that I wanted you.

You have become so much a part of me
in so little time..
and now I am spending my time,
in a constant state of repulsion
I am completely nauseated,
Sick under a spell.
Spewing cliches and now I really, really
just need you.
Nothing can stop me from feeling the way your hand felt in mine.
Or how your lips, I could kiss until the end of time.
I know now that my imagination is the most talented impressionist artist.
I am so far away from you but somehow I see you clear,
So I try to push you out, but I could never do that to you.
But a mile is a mile,
and now matter how hard I try,
my love has become a full-time Contractor,
measuring the reality of rulers, mocking us,
and I am sorry that I don’t know how to make them stop.


the skin and talk—
faith is blind and I believe in eyes eye-locked.
In midnight moon and star-shine bright,
Lying still and still-life visions
swimming slow across the wet grass and growing moss.

Tailored to my body come,
come dressed in me,
come doused in rum.

Show me your’s and I’ll show you mine;
my biggest smile and love divine.

Unfold me.
Discover the contents inside
my envelope skin, kept sealed
by saliva-licked lips,
a Love Letter stuck in my throat,
Written in blood-ink,
hoping to be effortless
hoping to express microcosmic abundance.
Soaked deep in Truth,
my teeth hook onto the words
that follow my shadow
and my shadow’s shadow—
a tale between now and all past Humanities:

I am everything, yet I am nothing.
On righteous days I am aware that both are equally


Juan Gatti


Juan Gatti

You don’t know yet that I will write about you one day.

But, still, I already have.
Fall in me with love.
Reasons we need feminism:

Today I saw a girl in the gym putting on hairspray before she started her workout.

Spirituality is where light and sound meet body and soul.

Spirituality is where light and sound meet body and soul.

Nature weeps an eternal story:
beautiful regeneration after decay.

It tells the tale of humanity,
in the most unabashed way.

Translation is held, laughing above,
A reefed night blooming with light
Like the child’s eye.
Or maybe a mastered kiss,
Like the setting sun.

Tell me a love story,
and tell it to me like you still believe
in something called “A Memory.”