1. – samantha lucero

a city map is sewn in the scalp;
+++looped in the goat-milk, or spit out,
tongued in silky blades of stomped
+++down grass.

i’m crowned with high-pitched fingers
+++clenched in fur.
in octaves only shades can bear, i simmer
+++in their holy cradles.
i become the roughened corner of a mouth
+++grinning at its own joke.

there, the receding home in ranch-style polaroid’s of a dirty blond stranger and my mother squinting in the sun; some home not mine or yours.

ventricles, which
+++in a woman’s left grows tiny,
and in a man’s more supple.
+++i keep alive by milking goats.

some like lifelines, some like ulcers
the city streets are braided in my hair.


Samantha Lucero writes at sixredseeds.

 

Author: Sudden Denouement

A Global Literary Collective

42 thoughts on “1. – samantha lucero”

  1. Sam, I have missed reading your writing so damn much. You are a fucking treasure.

    “Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks.” – Plutarch

    What I’m saying is, your poetry is always a work of art that speaks volumes.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. I’ve never had Absinthe. I dropped acid once, though, when I was seventeen. Aside from the altercation I had with a neighbor, I also rolled around and giggled…not with a kitten though, but with the M&M’s dudes.

        Like

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