all the beds are made – samantha lucero

more of my SD stuff.

Sudden Denouement Collective

when did you keep god under your tongue,
like
an uninvited pill
from that plastic nurse behind a wall,
masked
and reaching out to hand you an orange
mood
in a paper cup made in L.A.

for whom did your milky eyes blur,
or from whose unseen stare did the water
of your ribs buckle and hide
when you knew that worship was a mask we
wear,
that rituals and skin
give us a tendency to forgot how to say no?

i was born in a summer cage that sold
whispers to me
in body-sized trash bags, flung at donation
trucks where you wait and
where you drive up and pry a hole, pull out
unwanted secrets you can take home
and cherish as yours from other people’s
unglamorous lives; a boy scout’s book
on how to make a fire.
a girl scout’s book about how to cook on it.

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a shriveled love note in the barrel of an empty gun – samantha lucero

more of my night-work at SD.

Sudden Denouement Collective

the man i loved who never knew
was tall like most men girls love & never tell
he was t h e unreachable one in missing scenes of my other life — one i could’ve had, but couldn’t, & now i can’t at all —
he was that untouched n a m e i never murmured aloud
a strangled sonnet that i would recite to achasm in eachyearning lover’s prison-grey heart, wet-eyed with a desert-tongue and a diamond gun,
because you’re holding the smeared organ
the holy medal in my scalded dreams, where no one can hear what i whisper into my own nebulous mind,
so i scream in my head when i see you,
even in this inner-woven world where i can confess
to the fake piece of you that isn’t really there,

i don’t, i wouldn’t dare.


[Samantha Lucero writes stuff sometimes at sixredseeds.]

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