Veronica Felipe

The Missout

A combination of words 

takes on a separate meaning 

never to lose a complete bet

but still, feel alone

with strums of guitars weeping

and the sun beating hard on my back

I still am a traveler kept

in a boiling vessel 

laying the last in a line

reminding of life itself

gently looking up 

as the place suffocates the sensitive travelers 

and catch a verse or two

it ignites another fire

that seems to be tolerated 

as smokers line up to die 

it is suggested that London loves them too 

White Beard

I processed everything without heart

the immolation was the last to serve

it as adequate to keep my mind off the degree

of time and place

the nature of the antibody was me

and I felt black and blue

never to mention or say his name

I climbed a ladder of ladino clover 

and felt its soft structure 

nothing to taste 

but I can tell that it has been crushed 

there is no question to address

as it tests my patience