• Cervantes


    What the boulevards stage, the out in
    the open: these crumbling tropes please

    the bedecked, each thinly sponsored seat
    a silent market of flies. Analyzing

    pedestrian analyses crowd publication,
    R&D. The press won’t run our tickets, the

    red crammed too raw onto plates. Stirred
    people floodwater avenues. In our country

    we grope for which bundle of flesh
    do tickles hide from colonial masters.

    From his peninsula are salves,
    props parading
    out through theatrical, revolving doors.

    Let us dress the balcony with traffic lights
    right down the aisle, to the insides

    of CR cubes! In aortic architecture,
    what constant is the cost of assembly

    of, say, a bus onstage, set to explode?
    Was gala the extent of your intentions, or

    do we want them to stagger, savoring
    their day-to-day fully aware, dilate?

    This much we do have: “We want them.”
    The more we shut our eyes, the more they pulse.


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