Artista, Your Prize

the Victorious Genocide
scraped from my plate
harbored magma’s convalescent gaze
on our gruesome field

its broken glasses televised with the
scope of a Turkish astronomer

braided utopia, unraveling
slowly like locks pick-pocketed
by sparrows in the bellies
of birds bigger;
endless music

belying the tragedy
of concrete forced inside a woman’s womb;
a birth of modernity,
—the great river, cooled
and hardened like lava tubes
running parallel to the lines

unrequited love draws
in the sand of New Mexico
or the felt of a pew in a church balcony—
my first baptism

into life’s violent ubiquity, the commonplace
slayings and cover-ups
of our most masterful artistas

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