Curanga Pie Blues
I was conceived in the cold heat
Of the late stage Anthropocene.
My mother’s milk was curanga pie.
I am a born again pleonasm—
Aphasic—ecstatic in static,
Mendicant in white noise.
I am obscenely petulant,
Piqued & hot
What I’m Reading:
“Hers is the kind of presence that registers as an absence.”
— Tess Gunty / The Rabbit Hutch