Serigraphs Paul Obelar
under a night light with yellow lanterns
your skin gains reflexes
unexpected brightness.
Under your brow brown brush
an intimate summer
burn your eyes clear and the glass of your lenses
like an echo, transform
that gaze that not all
resist or celebrate when slash-and-leave fence and waiting
a huge secret that could prove
or phrase cut like an exacto knife.
're finally here
your body is accommodated in a vacuum as
old who wears a suit
have made for him, ripping silences your voice
sand becoming what could be high as a stone block covered
the ice one winter after another scenario
the width of this plain, this moor
of opaque opaque circumstances and subject
hovering between ties of rough
weed that thrives at night
endless shadow.
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