In the market a bull’s skinned head.
Horned still, with black lips.
A boy is carving from the cheek,
slides the slices off his palm.
Green flies gather on the cuts
In the disco-bar
Amalia, inside her thin black
dress. Rafael, who is gone,
used to hurt her. A perfume
drifts from Amalia’s skin.
Men buzz, oil their hair,
hurry across the room.
I am walled and atop my walls
are glass teeth.
Sharp jewels of green and amber.
Clear shards to catch the light
the way a bride turns her ring.
Inside, soft red flowers open.
Inside, yellow bougainvillea glitters
like the yellow specks in my eyes.
Oh if you would be a thief
come crawling. Come bleeding.
Come to me in ribbons.