Published in Cipactli Journal He is an architect of bodies, spewing messages through speakers, speakers sitting on sidewalks, sitting in bathrooms, sitting under pillows. Speakers counting the ways she is not enough. Counting the rolls on her belly, the wrinkles on her face, the dreams not yet met. The speakers replace mirror-facing eyes with daggers, blades slicing the body a part until it slims, fits, contorts just right. He is an architect of the body and he’s got hours and hours of ammunition firing through televisions. He’s learned to start when they’re young, young and wondering, young and not yet built from bricks thrown at their feet. He learns to break them down by pointing to a cra
Published in Cipactli Journal Noun; verb; universal; consent; the act of seeking approval; holding nods inside to spark aflame; internal, external agreement, most commonly a necessity She’s been knocking and knocking and knocking so long her knuckles turned from white to pink to red to scabbed purple to peeled back, pussed yellow and pink again. She’s been knocking and knocking, hearing the feet shuffle on the other side of the door, watching the shadows come and go between the one-inch gap, hearing words exchange before dissapearing in some distant corner of seclusion. She keeps knocking as the sun fades to night, as the moon rises behind her, as the street lamps illuminate she’s the only b
