• Vol. 02
  • Chapter 10

to carry yours

this punch/ paunch of a stomach
it's made by carrying
your stressed late nights
for trooping your troops
toward the drier savannah

what I carry now:
the glistening floss
of guitar string
more substantial
than my own body
anti-luminescent Under
the symbolism of cacti
& love that pricks

i was on a mission
but now i am missing
traveling to the tune of you
without recognizing the means
i have to play my own


to carry yours

what you want from me:
the bejeweled case
I cannot bear to wear

the tiger striped fender
against my lent skin
used to be yours
well, both of ours

now I am a vagabond
without my own sac
jusqu'a ta guitare
je n'existais pas encore