A Riff Off PrefaceLina ramona Vitkauskas
for Huidobro I was born at the age of 8 on the cut of no Christ; gin and tonic the equator of my hairless pain under the geraniums of my Lugan piano, a cuddy beneath bergs. I had the blank stare of a victim, a relentless bicycle. I breathed in the next blind father upon a trapeze bar, I loved the daylight, the veil of every hat. My mother spoke with larks coming from her mouth, she embroidered buttons to my breast. On the first day, I asked the larks to unbeak these buttons, to look upon the nudes of the gallery, to collect the broken shells of rational hearts. Then I created my tongue and braided my grave. A poem is something that never is, but ought to be. A poem is something that never has been, that never can be. I constructed my development from my grandmother's slips and Russian stars upon the tombs of sublime retinal failure. Speeding gold chessboards of sight, perhaps they preferred disconnection so as not to see the disconnected language sculpted from it; perhaps when disengaged, the last sigh of vision delivered untangled tropes. One should write in a language that is not the mother tongue. If I didn't do something crazy at least once a year I'd go crazy. I looked at my fists, angled as accordions, a horse upon each virgin extracted for the stain of sleep, the illusion of hair. Where the blood of my vain tongue slipped into my father's glass and burned my skin an effigy; of phone cords and moons of bound light; each end of summer a blister of stone; I, a soldier of children. All of my throats the planets, money wired to each snowy renewal of skin, more skin, all the skin I could grow. I drank the hunters, the waterfalls of bile, each hammer of my selves a bitter astronomy. There is a secret to my vertigo, my only fishscales in the sea of hankerchiefs. I was born at the age of 8 on the cut of no Christ; gin and tonic the equator of my hairless pain; True poems are fires; its conquests lit with shivers of pleasure or pain.
Lina ramona Vitkauskas Read Bio Author Discusses Poems
|©copyright 2004-2022, No Tell Motel. All poems ©copyright the authors.|