Sunday, June 10, 2012


By: Gabriela Anaya Valdepeña

Of an amoral moon
Of a sinister and seedless tree
Of an undeniable wound
A gratuitous plague
Of a small heart that dreamt
Too big not to fail
Of a sun that cannot endure
Of a great hole in God’s heart
Of indiscreet winds
Of love and its fragments
Of entire cities buried in tradition
Of pyramids
Ice hotels
Numbers, tusks, and dead end streets
Of super-surrealism
Water, forgiveness
The kiss you gave
Of loud flowers
False optimism
Of contrived irony at a moment that
Calls for direct speech
Of a mystic’s third eye
Of the blind, indefatigable reaper
Of your obscene handwriting
Well-formed brows
Your heart’s endless lending and my poor credit
Of Einstein’s red door, glial cells
Film noire
Of this voice that is not mine
Of these fingers that type
Of the world that starts again
Each time you kiss me
Of these beautiful scars that are all yours
Of empty cathedrals and impotent statues
Of my ability to change into everything I am
Of your sins
Of your past
Of a future in which war is a gross abstraction
And leaders negotiate at the poker table
Of your lies that grow like phalluses
Of the women who repent you
Of the magniloquent sea, the night of a million moons
That delivers you to my door
Of floral scents that feed nostalgia
The rook in your palm
The alleyways of love
Of the silver leaf of pleasure, this living death
The wish to move into your soul and displace all others
The need to be possessed, to be delivered, ex machina
Into the nothing that survives.

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