Vowels of surrealism

42 Poems. Best enjoyed with saltines.

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1 the cursive aubergine / toast and its heavenly apostrophe / cans mating openly

2 phoneme Antigone / citadel, infinite livers / plastic wayside condescension -

3 Syntec lids the chili / Born synonyms and tandem / Laden gums of migratory in Finland -

4 Dead sundry pinwheels / Bolts and Bolsheviks / Forty truss a sicker, belly lips / Cumbersome lends, waterbed ed. -

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5 The wrenched anticline / Phosphorous belts intruded / Folks and gossamer, Siamese drifts / Atoning salt lightly given -

6 Six candid decrees of flowers, sutured popes / An open clementine on winded feet / Tarantulas in my ribs weaving islands or convertibles -

7 Weighted forums antiquating transparency / The dawn of bi-lithium folders / When a dream glaciates and wallops toward three -

8 A dozing monsoon / The lively debate of tractors and Bavarian wild-berries / Sympathy baiting the beetle into a Corinthian bed of latent sighs -

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9 An urgent modicum west / Grass-globs the fire birds in chest / Undeniable moths the literal sink-vision -

10 Red Frisian doppelgängers / Carrying the violent gems of antecede-ism / Nowhere claustrophobia extant tides where berries bathe retched alchemies -

11 The dead is syllabus / Wanton slithers gist the acronym -

12 My entire skin lists parentheses / Spain withholding the fountain of spoons / Unholy relegation of discomfort to spinning wheels, always leaking -

13 Castrated synths antebellum / Epsilon only divides under slated tangerines / Tidal pool processions, coconut wakes -

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14 An erasure synapse / Night cloth of dregs, symposium / Open caché of the ladled gods -

15 Lichen in a thwarted vacuum / Closed doors the apple renascence / Tesla, the hums in tomb -

16 A third brush in the sleep-fields of Antigone / Out into volcanoes, binomialized / Mother mania, the little replicants -

17 Syntax tied to a string of pantheons / That otherness lodged between the dream, the apothecary and nude selves / Divine coteries disputing the wake -

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18 Lenticular friends, behooves the camel / Trite antimonies / Solid dust of my crepuscular -

19 Errant redder cubes / Topography of the simmer / Courts, what the butterfly wants -

20 I’m a howling light of synthesis / Sundials the verb apostrophe / Triple signifiers waxed surface reigns -

21 A fourchette, silicon / Sated antelopes / Optical pity the anti-meme -

22 Sublime anti-coats / Whichever canvas holds the infamy / Disrobing, facsimile is the ultimate load of rhinoceros -

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23 The American segue / Ten hypnotists and their apples / Revelatory indigoes; blue teething -

24 The title lax of your rhubarb / Stagnating consonants, writhing blue as a sifter / Tin flavors contaminating the centipede wreaths of me -

25 Inevitable virus; chain of incendiary whites Jump yet into another lemon the fourth part of your gender Discursive missives; wives of the galaxy pretend -

26 A tethered body on a kite softly lit by the almost love from last night’s dream / Crystalline the rung the anxiety / I am the surface I am the moon -

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27 Blue tangles the winter binge / The singular-incision birds of Adam & Eve / Sandman oranges, he who bluffs in the nave of cursive antitypes -

28 Legacies of eyelids dot flash floods These hills are sudden & wonderful / The neck is a bowl of dragonflies negotiating with day-old necromancers I wander about. -

29 My name is synonymous with hibiscus / Before the seismography / The rupture I intended was a three-way sky / Fold over me, electric womb isosceles -

30 I’ve faced diving thievery / Two towns of crosses acetate / Hymns for planets and their secret diamonds / Fortress the autonomy is yellow -

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31 Toy the doves of senseless metonymy / Volume this trek loves hindering red / Tragic sinew of nothingness. transaction. approximate king I bled. -

32 Vitriolic impenetrables / Hierarchic gardens / Acidic antiquities / Celsius the troubadour -

33 The legendary apparatus: symposium of melons and organelles alike / Traits we often sidle under as children of cinnamon & Lacan / Low storms sleep & drifter ends to which— / Forty five intentions wrapped neatly in the constitution of your echo sodium-gates -

34 Snagged tetra lips the apple / When shadow relents and you’re the lane / Saddled insufficient pheasants / Brave undertone sentries the blooming erudites -

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35 The summer of renovation / Exploitation of light & bodily forms / The lunatic’s haiku / Degrades itself -

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(II) - others a coffin, twice by himself No, you’re not there It’s elephantine mist curling into something Maybe a lemon falling out a window When the lack falls out of me and symmetry unties Hazardous hands No, you’re not there -

Explode, red eternal I am, a feeling of gondola vertebrae– six ways Alluding to the cataract of spoons Axis obstructive the lunar, abdicating my newly held secrets You, your mirror parts Thrust forward, but in Frisian Approximate years we bend. -

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Unaesthetic we blue, of can shirts Imagine, three languages in your head and all you can think of is a red chair Wrestling away the wind from him Uncoiling earth -

I last as I mystery Salmon light approaches you Firefly, treacherous one the visions resurrected with too much salt Heart in a baron Pandora wilderness A bend, votive (Gamma dissension, you’ve betrayed me Wild boars the aptitude) -

Fifteen spirits The anvil is a serpent while I disappear in a forest of Tuesdays and six-headed eyes To untie the knot & unfurl the wall (Cement drones quickest to wade, away the sun, sun, sun…) For now, a fixation. Parts fall and dilate into triangles, all astray Quiet machinations, sounds of open-heart surgery, the swift and winded irises of new skin -

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The even close – cloud – We refuse to wait for the heavenly algorithm that’ll parse us all Seven quakes before the Sun even lands on your cheek Hill-grown sentients guard the impotence -

The off clockface This galaxy straddles the side of my neck and my preferred job would be the angel of death Not a piece of white on the opposite temple Hums of Volver suspended in the air, Part spiderly – Aiming planets The tricky gaze I withheld when my voice broke and fiddled anew -

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Daniel Fierro is not a surrealist. They are a tarantula-woman. Thank you for reading. — For Tristan Tzara.

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