I mean, fuck me, my friends!

as i withhold my tongue
waiting for a sunny spell
to translate my loud pain
into a muted pearl

translated from the Polish by Adam Zdrodowski

The rose demands a poem sensitive to a lizard’s tongue,
crooked cumulus clouds or the gesticulation of deranged
children.

a loom in the torrid, aching wind
lashes velcro lozenges past greedy oysters
turned

Her breath whispers against his ear. Here, hear?

I went to where a house was and found the body. I was the finder of the body that was among what was once a house and is now empty window sills and broken wood...

I was born with a black crocus above my head...

I have been a long time in this story of where I am.

Before we could paint the house we had to scrape off the old paint.

To be formed irregularly
Performed in this site

Frida Kahlo, after a long overland journey, arrives at a conclusion.

from the Cabinet of Dr. Vermont

it is probably too late for apologies –
but here goes.