Flatten the Dam and March the Width of Man – Marisela Zamora

April 9, 2025

According to the tip of your eyelash, the pink,
meatiness lubricating our movement recalls a
wicked critter circling the vacancy of a palm,
tragically amidst. And besides, glass jesters
among malnourished principles; determine
worthiness of worlds in the vast horizon of
your window. A woman wears Hibiscus tonal
blouses; in spite of her cancerous spine, she
mouths architectural blueprints, thinking of
her son & tonguing kickback gravel & bloody
knees paint greyscale; this taste
injures her saliva. Machinations of undying
horses complicate theory; equestrian limbs
are fiercely thin, upsetting balances—
the treasures of starving winters—ever wonder
the legality of consuming horse meat? The hunger
means something larger will not.

And I will not step on this air, once more,
debating whether tighter grips; on this side
of myth I am infinite; tipping us would
flatten a dam & my thick calf creating
answers for such devastating acts. Too
late, I hear grasshoppers cascading ruffles
nostalgic for cousinhood and every time
I resist ritual, unlatching in action To rub
myself of mud, joining silent cheeks
feigning The Breathe. in case, Lift a
ladder—higher! and watch becoming
Entranced; with time, a visionary snaps and
begins plotting holes, plans
asking the will to attend a funeral
for this ladder, and those grasshoppers, and
at the wake, crawl inside emptiness,
nibbling Into, searching for
arches & maybe Feet to stand with.