Maclene Marcaida Poems

What's your name?
My properties, my kettle,
my calf had been washed
out. My calm farm.
...

The sharp odor of wax
lingers on my skin.
Various tinges depending
on what this kid is feeling.
...

Your eyes
separated by a bridge
that travels nonidentical
finite paths. Passageways
...

I am an unfinished painting,
an unpolished mirror
with a cloudy, steamy purpose.
An uneasy structure,
...