She says she lit a candle and placed it under my balls when I was bornbecause they were too big,
If you had asked me, thirteen, what I wantedto be one day, I wouldn’t have said it.
The anemone of your dream bloomsinside the vacuum of space.In your pocket of black wind
He says he’s never really stoppedspeaking to God. Says it’s in his DNA, askingfor things.
When my body blew openthe shadow-glass cloudgalloped through me, glittered
I count gulls until they spasminto numbers, until I graspa number never uttered.
At night in the field, I felt the curvature of a palpabletime around me, felt the darkfoam of the waveform rise and collapse
It is easier for people to think I wanteda dick swinging between my legs.
It makes more sense that way instead of thefacial hair that came at the same time
The summer after, a stormsplit the sky over Hergla and I wanted to be in it.
Every day there’s the bay, every day, every night, once, it was Estero de Jaltepec:
