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Similar to you were meant to eat your velvet
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you were meant to eat your velvet
- 1. / / an eye is the simplest way to see. did you feel the weight of it come upon you? the spark, the self, the thought: "i am" somewhere in this perpetual fingerpaint did you know? little lit candle behind grandmother's pupil first flicker behind an eye that was not yet does the gradient of it spill out out from when our bodies swallowed smoke? can you find it through its pull? in the water, in the springtail, in the root or is the weight just grasping for a hand to hold when the shower runs cold you're not the most original and yet you feel the weight. and its glory. you
- 2. / / banana country tocan puruxón kahuich en la tarde nos da una risa qué ridículos los winik esos yo que soy francés (claro que sí, mi tatarabuela) (de dónde más crees que saco mi nariz de cabeza olmeca? y el pasto corto de mi patio?) touch the cut on the small of your back of ours just a lash to blink away surely at forty you could stop moving no pain, just the way of things surely at sixty you should keep moving, despite the way of things alguien lee a la doctora cuevas cob y ay alboroto! bola de resentidos táan u jats’ik in wich yéetel u múus iik’ (y qué aliento) (malix ese) bananas came on the same boats that took the sisal away
- 3. / / but my teeth are still sharp my mother and i call each other "figs" it's just a pop of phonemes from when i was eight before i spoke english and knew my mother fancied herself a wasp my mother never liked figs —the fruit i mean— "the texture is always unexpected" she holds my hand yeah, i know it brushes your palate, the graveyard of wasps willing
- 4. / / you can still hear the bells i sit down (it kills the energy, i know) carefully disect the nerves apply blood and bile and brightness as i see fit hope it burns something inside outside myself-- --and jingle miserably across the floor as i imagine the laughter it is so overwrought
- 5. / / you were meant to eat your velvet and it's all pink: the filter on the light, the fleshy stained-glass drapery, reflecting the sun like cold water. no more a part of you than cut hair as much a sign of who you are and how you know that skin must tear and dry so crane your neck and climb with your unsuited hooves you could've sworn were callused fingers that knew how to cradle. it's not what you now know —but you remember swallow your pride your glory your blood far beyond your butchered tongue, little deer hung up on a tree pink-antlered (flesh that eats flesh) (the inside of your fascia). (all-red leaves on the tree). (you had hands and you had fangs).