By Lucia Llano
bc isn’t life just nerves like kitchen lights?
or like the same poem again and again?
hasn’t everything love-bent already been said?
ihavesomuchtosayitsbackloggedmythroatisallcloggedupnow
how bout you stick your fingers down it? i’m
just kidding.
i’m just stoned
in place,
a granite statue,
sending you a text
thinking of you,
the other day,
remember how
i put my fist in my mouth
just to see how it would fit and
it just kept coming back lavender
when i spit,
or like, a fist full of grass.
anyways. i think i swallowed wrong and
i think you forgot to ask but
yes, i’m still stuck.
yes, i’ve been trying to find my hands ever since.
until then,
just know,
(i love you)
i am not trying to walk away from you
i am just always trying–
i am just always breaking
in a new pair of shoes.
i am
also sorry.
or more like
just waiting on you.
bc i know it’s so cool to be calm and collected
but like, i’m sitting here, freezing to a still.
cmon, turn on my kitchen light.
give me a little heat.
oh, that reminds me
once i rolled out the hot-womb with a godlike fear of language
so my first word was laughter and
i never found a word
that laughter didn’t already say
and you make me laugh
(it’s) so hard.
i’m just a kid
learning to speak all over again.
i just roll around the hillside of each mouthfeel
white socks painted green
by the small hands of each small word
i just stand there, pointing at the world
saying, look! look!! look!!!
nothing else.
sometimes,
just sputtering,
love
!
Hothouse 