The Poetic

Das Tischdecken

I’m glad to address you
Address you first in my most universal of tongues
To begin a conversation with our walls
For I first knew of you while watching others dance
I wondered why I stood alone moulding your soft body
Never ceasing to change
Holding on to itself
forever losing its past
I can cut you up, Paste you back together Shape you to loops and slopes
Indent you
Press you
Pull you
And yet you never lose your whole
Maybe it’s me trying to learn from you
Your grip less grip
Your shapeless shape
And how you always dry to a promise Antes de sentar me
No puedo pretender de no saber porque me dirijo a ti
Una vez más en esta lengua de mi infancia

Por ser honesta en disfrace
Por ser mentirosa de pequeña
Por haber convivido contigo
Tierra antigua
Tierra rica y tierna
La encarnada provechosa
So terrified to do your form injustice
I can hear the begs of color
The praise from fellows and the sound of high-pitched doubts

But then I already see you placed on a table Made the guest of honour

Guten Appetit
Wir haben uns alle lieb
jetzt erst haben wir uns alle lieb
als wäre es immer nur die Gelegenheit der Tischsache
die Gegebenheit des Zusammensetzens Steingut zu decken und Gabeln zu richten was haben uns unsere Hände hier her- beigeschworen?
verknetete Erde
verdunstetes Wasser

an else of earth
un otro de tierra
definitivamente un cambio sin fin

A Vase dor the Dead (2020)

Where would she have to scratch to eventually bleed in white?
Eggplant white.
Decolorized purple.

Her tears and fears made her lover buy her a garden and with those lines she saw her hands again because she used them.

And there was tribalness between her paths. Tribalness we all bear within us.
The tribe of color and Trinity she had forgotten.
and a desire to become the garden herself flushed her.

“Surely this will soften my bones” she thought
“I will become a disciple of life again”
because most growing takes place underground. and the songs of Alzheimer’s had already played.

But snake tongues held her back
ingested chemicals brewing storms of misperception within her.
we’re not here to give her pity
we may forgive because we claim to understand

but actually, her show is about a desperate urge to listen

to passively decay
to befriend that coral-bleaching Mr. Death

The Calling (2021)

Her red hood all lost in the forest
Out of his stretched stomach she lives there Through the metal of her shimmer
No moon goes missing
No sun lets her down
And she feels her roots deep
Like mute snake tongues in her ear
No cell needs to sacrifice its wall
No fungus, rust nor spore
has etched its way into her core

Invited devils dare to dance
Her broken teeth and stained leaves
Twisted ankles and catfish shoulders
Only her own tears flow
How could she defend herself from the call?
Of dark sweet nights

Washing Trapped Air (2021)

In hopes of no one awakening
may I be of rest to you
Was it the voices of my early days?
The ones that minimized, crushed and stung Those that should not be

*Shaping that what cannot be*

Gaging ghosts, trapping air
Because it hast actually never been a life saver You ought to breath out too
And pass on that intimacy
Away from saturated verbs that merely reduct us burning

Because that’s the fabric lacing up my stay jacket
Binding and bound to collide within itself

But in our walls dreams can desire
Haven’t you heard
Tiptoes for the taking
Free for all
Free for you
Oh dirty spell of monogamy
Our gallop of trophy culture
Grasp and grab it
Build your empty castles
With too much everything

And while you’re at it
tame me blue like your fish food