Miranda Arocho

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First,
I passed this place away
Then I made a home
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I visited your clay and painting gallery
You had many the vignette
I saw you building a corpse
While smoking a menthol cigarette
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You never really saw this coming at all
This is not a dream,
It’s too evocative for that
And ethereally bound
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I couldn’t see
Past my rapist’s door
In gravity my vision left in speckles
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Mr. Black was in line for another black coffee
While holding the flags of rebellion on his name tag
In the midst of enlisting the confederates that stalk me
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Private self-medication
Through disturbed nature;
Shoot me, Marcel Duchamp
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On desperate nights
Darkness dreamed

My love for death
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That white cat didn’t hear a sound
Flattered by sarcasm, quite confounded

As long as I’m here, he’s around
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