A poem by MARIA PERSU.


caressing light falling in-between brutalist
blocks of cement & of living things
houses decaying restaurants & shops
snippets of urban history buried
underneath the asphalt
the heat is seeping down every corner &
my neck is so stiff &
the veins of my temples rise & fall
rise & fall until
tiny fleas are all i see &
this is my last summer afternoon.

Image Courtesy of Maria Persu.

this is my last breath.
where houseplants are burning &
where i’ve decided to rejuvenate 20 years of age


us, with our youths fragmented
by decomposing territory
caught up in viral timidities
insecurities & alienations
the tiny cracks of this new constitution
may allow only liquid
to permeate: melt, broth, a random &
undesired alloy of matter


the cracks remodel themselves
we rediscover new entrances;
or we leave each other be forever –
plant, human-animal, animal, kitchen appliance –
an assemblage of co-dependencies

Image Courtesy of Maria Persu.

i confessed to you, but now i want everyone to hear me:
i want to encompass the bodies of my friends
to feel how our thoughts flow &
to float amongst ourselves
in knowing that
these disorganised common vibrations
will never bring us back to the shore


each of us has their place in the other
to welcome each other unexpectedly
far from being unwanted guests
to crack-open compulsion &
to ritualise the non-permanent &


Featured Image Courtesy of Maria Persu.

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