Lucía M. Polis The Poetry of

all cretans are liars
Salomé likes peonies
I make the bed in blue
the weather outside smells like fall

my mind  it tastes of melancholy and
the lights from passing trucks illuminate your face
i wake up  there you are
i wake up  there is no one

    watch out! neck tar & silver foil along the walls
    in cracks & rusty locks or fascist tacos
    or climax forests  is it sadomasochism
    or simply multiple sclerosis?

in my wake of water there swims something dark
oh  i have seen you move
some things must be surprises (mountains
examining these decrepit rural amateurs

i ex# upon the pleasures of erotica erratic
& the cerulean blue that underlies the
cardboard cutouts of die Landschaft
(not le paysage  sunshine & anal expulsion

weighing the transitive property of you
i consider the effort that it takes to be
to take now your desire to sea and to be seen
but you want to get off the phone

    i'm missing the news
    emotions are overwhelming me
    & I'm gonna give up everything
    just to find my man

    any wave of this desire
    makes me dive deeper and deeper
    into the sea of lust  see? I'm ready
    to make out with you  I wait

crows peck at ramen in the parking lot
i dream nightmares of stasis and proprioception
I'm an adult cedar  adult halibut  adult venus
on a scale from seashell to night I am yellow

    you love pizza? we love people!
    I want to taste you  I love to be desired
    and caressed by my man
    new to horse riding? we can help!

    you place the dough in her self cleaning oven
    no brain fog  exercise increases serotonin
    you get a new tongue each halfweek
    what does her cunt taste like today?

my face now crumples while i watch
moist pigeons on a pointless overhang
declensing mutually assured destruction
like shit from under fingernails