7.12 / Queer Three


I brand myself on the knee with the teeth of a comb

To grow the hair & legs of a centauress

The battering of hooves & churning of cud in my throat stuffed with the Lord like

A window

A blank under my treehouse weeds torn by boys & girls I dream of


Thunderbolt that snaps a candy green field I am breasted with

The wings of baby Jesus

Not yet a saint not yet a mule not yet a wand not yet Virgin Mary

Not yet the guy who ruptured his colon when fucked by a horse so he could

Gallop across the fertilized plain of this firmament

In which my father is the head & my mother is the neck that pivots

The head

My unicorn torso in a cloud their excretion

Blowing hard on my name in red burning off the saddle on my bare


My pearl horn a shot fired

Straight through the brain

Lucas de Lima has published poems and reviews in Action Yes, CultureStr/ke, and Rain Taxi, and is a contributor to the group blog Montevidayo. His chapbook Ghostlines is out from Radioactive Moat Press.
7.12 / Queer Three