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