By Madison Garay

i loved you because you had your father’s name
and he’s an architect
and i cry when i look at a house
because i know it’s a home to somebody
and theres a sunset, a sunrise,
a lamp left on in the living room
but i’m out here in the street
and i do not belong here

perchance we are slaves to our
own senescence,
the organ processing my thoughts
now is composed of new soft cells
soft delicate orbs
[diaphanous if not so dense] and maybe i am not the growth
but the root, and im orange,
and i know this because when a carrot
is sweet, it’s screaming
“i don’t want to die”, but it’s seething
with saccharine solipsism;
i am softer between someone else’s teeth

so drown in me in ——
[drown me in that.] so i may be a bog body,
cranberry cherub,—
heavy static limbs
drudging behind me [lead] like a star,i am already dead

by Alicia Persaud