Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

how i still have enough memory
boggles the mind

we move in slow concentric circles
you and I

I drop your head
to write down this line

I order paint trails
for a stuck kermode

I roll the syllables
inside my mouth

your mother dresses up
as black magic

I tumble down the stairs
in a grand flourish

the mind unravels
we obviously all had fathers

but the women were always in charge
what else is new

the madman is rapt

  I am my love quite rare a breed
  dumb as a board but love to read

give me commands upon arrival

the tone of the sky
is a nice fall day