Untitled #3
God isn’t real
But neither are you;
Yet I still lend you my faith.
–
Untitled #4
There’s a man in my room
He walks in some nights when I’m alone.
He doesn’t like talking
But he isn’t really quiet either.
This morning, he walked out of the closet and he stood next to my bed.
Then he disappeared.
This isn’t so strange,
but I get the feeling he isn’t coming back any time soon, and I’m sad.
–
Untitled #7, Part 2
Marble thighs
Would feel so pleasant
Pressed up against my lips
–
Theodore
There’s a light shining in the meadow and you’re no longer in a cage.
We could never be friends, but I’m happy because I see yourself in me.
We were separated by time and space but I could feel you suffocating.
–
Ferguson
mountain cedar, mountain cedar
there’s a haze over the cornfield
mountain cedar, mountain cedar
the hillside is glowing
mountain cedar, mountain cedar
you must not be afraid, because you don’t run
mountain cedar, mountain cedar
the smoke is pouring into my throat and you’re long dead
mountain cedar, mountain cedar.
–
Dream Sequence #1
A dark-haired woman with olive skin is
Pinching my cheeks;
She speaks a language I don’t understand
And wears earrings of bright jade.
I’m 8 years old and standing in a
Laundromat with brown-green linoleum floors.
–
Untitled #10
Morse-code fingertips
Tap messages
On my wrists
–
Trace Fleeman Garcia is a performance poet, writer, and community organizer from Tulare, California.
