By: Emeniano Acain Somoza, Jr.

The red blue violet lips
of this madness

they’re doing good service
to the black

oak growing slowly inside
the room,

water the leaves
of silence

as they fall one by one on the once lush
garden, now a dank bed

of festering undergrowth.
Feel the roots creep

up the cold Braille
wall – one more

unword, I know mushrooms
implode by the minute

with the nuclear force
of a kiss

osmotic intentions
tight like Kubric