Cecilia Vicuña

In reality my loves are the strange box of a Polish doll The blonde’s eyes appearing fixed to her hips long after midnight the garret always singular to loosen a massive mane across her back, its strands thick and fine draping her otter-like chin Deliberately she’d peer out from the wall and nothing could be seen but the shadow of  her breasts hidden beneath marmots of  hair And lovely was her skin’s radiance at that unusual hour Her waist’s digressions easily discerned as bees through grass the window neither open nor closed What I saw, yellow like crystal, rose from sleepy thighs amassed in unseemly tourniquets Everything before me, a pale shimmer of  hairs fanning delicately to reveal the pink or green skin I no longer know of  hips a million centimeters from my gaze.

I uproot & save mental venture I split the dream of the slow & neutral Persist & breathe My little flask Pointy wisp Pubescent valve Join the game I smoke & praise you Hew & raze you Jungle kill Bulldoze your sierra Fire to ash I wait & wait And you where are you Fragrant lantana Aim your voice In calm plains In silence wild Erasing the thirst The weightless altar insults the blood Awake diagonals Rot & Stand Go & go Flower gaining Plant your will!

Stairs & rites not for the foot The building thinks Angular rock Green skyscraper Black ziggurat Miniature of time Made into altar Invention of the night Sprouting at dawn Carved rock praying as it buds Seeking the seed to sprout! Saliva in torrents Cooling waterfall You redeem your field Salt head Stream of lights Double reflection Stone & water The same sprouting