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Cristina Tarán


Berkeley, CA, US

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Cristina Tarán

Know this.
That the knowledge of you hides like black in me.
That you sit in my cells and smolder.
You keep the run of my brains in your
horsemen's mask.
I buffet about a poison, tipped with red
Possessed of your face
I swallow your eyes like milk, every day
A long chain woven of bits of my flesh
linked with your grin
Winds its way through black heart-chambers
With a hiss of teeth.
That death is a promise you carry to me.
That death is a promise you carry,
On wings made of blades
Whirling towards my trembling soul.