My heart was a dystopian
berry budding in water tiger

lilies claiming
hocus-pocus wonder. I was broken

vanity, vixen vase, victorious tête-

à-tête — the Scrabble game nobody won
because the tiles aspired speculums.

Ocean-misaligned brook / brook-misaligned

— where else could these gospels have dawned
if not in the bellies of men

hyenaing a becoming?

Twerking in church,

I outperformed the candles
diarized in the simpleminded annexation.       Wussup,

with the veiniest homebound
pika-pika aim?

Wussup, Sims
Chumbawamba Family Portrait Simulation?

St. Sunny of the Sissies
beheld the bukkake throng

of mojo-coated cartilage
on the refurbished bunk

for new cetaceans. A dazzling jeremiad
shone me dead

until I gridlocked the algebraic expressions
of my body in question marks.

These syndicated fiyahs
stigmatized my herculean magma

but I held these walls apart,
every inch of my mascara cut off
apple pie.

You watched me hobble home
while the streets coalesced magenta. Tell Momma

the holes I cover with one error

swell — & there are only inadvertent landscapes
to dollop with nonetheless.
More Poems by Roy G. Guzmán