Óiganme 

2020

Is this day two-hundred? We must of forgotten the taste of life in all this time. I think, escape/leave/getout/anywhere but here. But where to, they ask; out of the circles in our minds! Have you produced? Any more making coming from you? I run. I cannot be reached. I will not meet what comes today, did you see? Today we hid; enveloped by the words above our heads. 

Catch all of them! Grab those words! You need to hold onto every syllable… 

Until they can no longer digest within! Tell me, tell me, how to let go of all— 

Con prisa.

2020

There is no time 

No vision left to wait for a sign 

I am alive— 

Is that not enough hindsight? 

Hold up. 

I don’t need a wake up call— 

I crack 

Myself into place 

So misaligned— 

Will we ever get it right? 

Scribbles

2020

I write on you. 

Every crease of your body fills with words 

Repeat (remind) to myself that I write (simply) for you. 

We? 

Cradle my words near your heart. 

I give. 

Feed empty space with cluttered words, 

Heavy with fear 

I cannot— 

Remind you that we carry 

Permanent sticky words.