King of the Knots
If “love is blind,”

then do the goosebumps on my skin
read in brail?

Are the words better left unsaid?

Scenes Drift and Senses, Too

Enter the circus of sinks and mirrors to find
a silly Chamangos mouth on display.
Swept up the corners of her mouth,
the spices entice a smile to grow
as she bathes a clean paper towel 
to kindly wipe off 
the small, red polka dots of her $6 pleasure.

She roams to the concrete stairway, Splash!
She hears the coffee stain on the floor tell her about its past:
How it fell for the floor
and will kiss it forever until 
the next tired janitor washes it away.

A hyperactive fire alarm slumps his shoulders.
He was put on time out.
Shook from the shock,
he overdosed on Ritalin after school.
Only the fire will wake him now.

The oxygen outside relieves.
Green popsicle bushes stand, 
like ancient monoliths mark
the importance of the contents within. 
There, in the center and all around
LIGHT
thinking it’s a moth,
feasts itself on the space between the leaves.
I can hear it slurping up the warmth while
the wall of the bell tower hugs a tree
and tickles its roots
as it plays hide-and-seek with the sun and shadows.

Her feet start to itch on the grass below
made of lizard tails woven into baskets.
Across the field, 
a subsidized bag of air 
called “Fritos”
costs the student $1.25
I wonder if the plants were asked permission 
to have home next to eternal Pepsi refrigeration.

11 steps to the right.
Ask the Somali girl for the time. 
Why did the Somali girl apologize when asked, 
“What time is it?”
4:35, sorry.

magrittee:

Jorge Ignacio Nazabal

magrittee:

Jorge Ignacio Nazabal

Fogou

Stone seemed sweeter than rocks,
lie down
under the galaxy
display
there is a shock.
Ignites the spine.

Paralyzed the beauty
is too much.
Silence
becomes
animated.

The chambers roar
watched many survivors
run through
to escape the curse of the industrial
to be revived on a new
settlement
where mist is pure
to make the dew.

Synthetic water is no where
to be drown
this new place preserves,
protects the people
inside
my chest
sheltered within memories
In that cave that keeps us alive.

Goodbye.
Goodbye,
I know.
Rejection of my tongue grows
familiar words did farewell to
the languages that died.

I wonder what their
poems sang like:
pedals
or thorns.

Be a cork in the side of my soul.
Stop this draining away

The Bar Scene

Wet smiles welcome
the hand with dirt
and fingernails ripped raw—
the two cobweb hands meet,
like the drawbridge that connects
timelapsed stacks of sips
on stinking lips
that perfume
the next few minutes.

Reefs of questions reek
the slow lick of small talk.
Cue cards were kept in sweaty pockets
sown out of compliments
on her eyes.

"Thank you"
She smiles sweetly
but sighs.
His eyes were eels and tongue, a boa
constricting the conversation
to a skinny disappearing
Destination: tall bathroom mirror.
Standing handsomely to reflect
tuxedo springs on the other side of Eden.

Voices exterior reverberate an apartheid state
They will soon separate,
once the warm whiskey army
stops marching down their throats.

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
lipstick
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.

Kandinsky

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,
emaciated,
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.

Underneath,

Beneath,
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
magnetic.