Gerónimo Sarmiento Cruz

quelites (quelle eat s.)

(one sont less)

i like hides what i don’t like

which is our thing right now

the thing we’re coping with

more so that unlearning leaves

no verifiable content

but the fugal

the radiance of a newly arrived ab

sense from the prefix as in abaxial

there’s no point to this sprawl

you gotta die that death

and cherish its surroundings

too like a simile for simile

purposiveness is dead on

but this too should be pre

if unfixed in the manner of

peri over para and vice over

versa

look there’s no breath to catch

sort of regreshing rough

though i

offer humbly as a light gift

the kind of attention you can’t give

to a disintegrating idea is the kind

invoked here

like the moment says

love your grossness i do

away from your read most

knowing points like a mutilated index

in its pointing to lack upon

acquisition

insisting no no

around the systemic devaluation

of teaching

unlearn me all their moments

lessons loosened letting them

in turn rove stroll to find their

own

sustenance and i don't

how formlessness at times

is helpless

in its sufficing

quelites (quelle eat s.)

(kin ton ill)

freed play

that any given weeding

can gather

some absolute

we are our own people

and the most logical answer

is always the one you’re thinking of

still you’d think i’m factoring

in those sounds but i’m not

that’s the game of the name

in the unreal given to you

no such a thing as space ok

but what of

the death marathon

remind her of this ravine when at an end

and the organic part of giving up

its lungs

the feet which had all

but vanished in the undergrowth

lost for all she cared for

was all lost and fair

or her sense of

in the sense of sensing

of soil without touch

a taciturn immanence that followed her home drunk

stumbling but stubbornly hovering so

like a moan

the stuff of dregs

the persistence

what we understand of birds in the evenings

when light wanes and cars crash

remind her they’re still there holding head

but also pulling it

as far and near as we ever

its sole mediation

as if there were punishment for all the stupid shit we think

ghostly nothing but the tangible end that tends to be

dirty

quelites (quelle eat s.)

(bae raws)

to put it to bed

i can’t tell you which is my house

but i can show you where i live

habit like habit like breathing

like resin like tendrils

like the deliberate infliction of severe pain

the habit of surrender

find comfort in collapse fiend

knowing the overgrowth has bathed us

an immediacy as a takeover of all

the smell of it mostly green

with fetid traces of the atlantic

driven farther inland by the wind

but for the arrival that wasn’t and the world they carried in front of their face

they would have seen what they didn’t and what they didn’t seek

lush in the countless potentials of what they weren’t as well as what they could have been

the periphery nests the center regardless

and the smell of it is mostly

all the blooming of this geometry

subtleties lust on

eyes unschooled in this

our badness

in orther to listen to a silence

of two minds you turn from it

and meet it backwards

attendant to all those unintended

across the southern provinces of intention

pissy murmurs in that same fetid wind

sleep to point

oh a i unbridled mares

on a sandbank post

shipwreck post

two thousand eight

do not

quelites (quelle eat s.)

(vert dos là gas)

there’s a name because there’s a need

a relation with place that accrues

in time

taking shape as food

and dispersion

maybe you will read the passing of the hours here

of body into mound

into feast all adjacent

namely effervescent and ebullient

raw histories are like that sometimes

an endless conversation where you get one syllable

and it makes sense

go on and tarry with timber when it’s algae that keep the ship afloat

you claim you see silhouettes

are ongoing negotiations and you don’t

no longer celia

some withness scattered over

tardigrades gather as tardigrades do

foraging as kenning

kin

mimicking the edges

note how this silence circumvents their names

as it names for the occasion

wastefully so because there’s no wasting

and i couldn’t hear the fog

and you weren’t calling

your slovenly kind

but neither has any judgment

other than flavor

is of circumstance

the climate and its expression

subtitles these subtleties

that want no verbal articulation

of which

remains

illegible as the hours

quelites (quelle eat s.)

(papa law)

the t in listen is silent

cutting corners and discarding the rest

an era

sure

but of what fabric

still you tune your instrument right

knowing it’s just a mood

and a passing one at that

coquecigrue when with intention

you got stuck with it one

third of the planet

i fucking hate star wars and i find

myself less and less invested in language unless it

the prosperity of which lies in the absence of guidance

somber like but not as it relates to this

of cloth woven onto said fabric

like nothing because it’s nothing

but tremorously

it’s the sediment insisting

in the docile ways of exhaustion

between breaths between cases and examples

the life lingering in the interim

i’m still learning this new language

properly carnaged as one does

as we do dole out the remainders the results

it’s what you catch from the substrata

it’s the lack of dynamic verbs and the loudness of the drama

maize and beans purslane and sage

i still haven’t heard your name and it’s about

dusk all about dusk and yes the light is meant to blind us but also force us to shut up

upon the grasses there’s only nomads

then the floods the archipelagos

as if equal temperament

instinct entails a rehearsal of past

errors laden

lent themselves in turn to specialization

how you fly close to the tusk

whereas i toy with the art of scarring like a map

to still err sometimes

millions of tons of grass

raising rain

getting lost in the night

in the discrete instants that make the dark

some extramarital information some

blessing stripped down to the spine

we end