Tag: Patricio Betteo

Dirt Road Dirtbags

It was Saturday. And I love Saturdays. My friend Libby’s dad takes her to church on Saturdays. And Polly’s dad takes her to museums. And Abigail’s dad takes her on picnics. But me and my dad are different because, on…

Pins

Crying, I recall my father shudders, remembering tall thin men at the foot of the bed apparitions at night, faceless heads like pins, mostly arms, sharp at their sides. One of those things you stare at open-mouthed, barely breathing, waiting…

Dreamless Nightmare

I have not always had my medication to protect me from epilepsy, to keep my hand steady while I handled boiling grease and kitchen blades. There have been spans of time, long and short, where Depakote was not there to…

When You Grow Up

I’d rather be a collapsed flower drenched in rainwater; succumbed to the well where wishes weld winning whims. though not alone as the barren heart of anti-democratic men but with a plenitude of carbon based efforts trying to truncate all…

Treading The Fire

maybe beauty will remain an abstract dirge; a mantra to be ruminated over like a submerged leek becoming tender in warm water. as it seems to me all as vanished from our worlds galaxies and cliques. much poetry has propelled into…

Social (Media) Distortion

I pursued him with a single minded determination that had been notably lacking in my previous endeavours. I wanted Richard to be mine like I craved my next breath, my next dream. He was a friend of a friend. When…

Opposable

The featured image accompanying this poem, entitled ‘Uninspired’, have been used with the permission of artist Patricio Betteo. About Patricio Betteo: Patricio Betteo, son of south-american parents, was born in Mexico City in the late 70’s. Since 1999 he has focused…

The God in the Attic

In our attic, among things, as it seems of past lives, lives a bitter God. When guests come to our house, we don’t mention him. When we’re alone, we talk about him quietly, fearing of being heard. We do not…