sea creature poems

And when I'm in the mood for love, I hunt the moons.

“And there it was one of those moments that is the opposite of blindness. The world poured back and forth between their eyes–”

Cities and seas, iridescent, intensified.

“When the piece of a body is left (or a home is left) then the body begins being a constellation: one piece is there! one piece is there! If I leave my hair in the comb in my mother’s house & walk out the door to go to the airport, then all of a sudden the body is everything between me & that lost piece. The body is made up, then, of roads & crickets & azucena & mud. How large we are. How ramshackle, how brilliant, how haphazardly & strangely rendered we are. Gloriously, fantastically mixed & monstered. I have been asking myself to be more attentive & porous—to pay attention to the way every inch of me is animal, every inch of me is earth. I am trying to remember this. Where is my cloud? Where is my sea? What do the lungs hunt? What does the eye have in common with the teeth?”

Poetry as salutation; taste Of Pentecost’s ashen feast. Blue wounds. The tongue’s atrocities. Poetry Unearths from among the speechless dead