Poem: A Gulp by Ariel Riveros

A vehicle takes
a lake, bank and
scrub on stilts
transplanted
at night

[the bull and fro]
she stands still
the static and the crickets

All nighting it
bunking down
in the heather

The shining
stars wriggle
the curve on
the black water top,
beam bed deep

I sup hand cupped
and shake of salt
astral ingesting
wets my taste budded
loudhailer and fills
my gut. Flowers
grow up to my
teeth.

Wasps and bees
fly near me
and zoom in
when I speak.

Peasantry
like you see
in paintings
come reap
the flors
that are my lips.

The artistry
is internal here.
I'm running out
of pen.