Dyspnea Poem by Roberto Tejada

For days to situate the flesh in whose inadequate precinct
motionless: a monolith of the often spoken
of which nothing is

certain: or abstract of whose gender to the use
of all acknowledged desire formal
parlance & pronoun

to form the stars across your back: whose hardened
muscle: tremendous lateral delta
of which to the shoulders:

there is a way from yes: the very inside an eternal
tick of the left eye: a language
not only illegible as

the vain translation of a fictive contradictory
self & its consonant verb to be:
but the body's crystal

falling through a grey film of failed memory
& brushfire this Autumn midnight:
to unfold (in the form

of your body) pleasured corners of a place
in which the difficult new breathing
and I are foreigners