Eduardo C. Corral: After Bei Dao/After Jean Valentine
The skin of your deity smells like gasoline
Your prayers are added to the pyre
A gold wheel spinning
Once your voice broke out in a sweat
Each word a salt lick
There are fingers rooting inside a violin
Orchestral maneuvers
In the middle of the pandemic
You mistook a group of ghosts for an orchard
You, coward
Fingers are rooting inside a violin to pull out
The last scraps of birdsong
A gold wheel spinning in your mind
Like insomnia