they were hungry

they were hungry because their hands
were empty their hands in trashcans

                                         visible thick white paint
visible booths visible with the fence starting from the booths

fence fence fence

it started from a corner with an iron pole

those men those women could walk between booths
say hi to white or brown officers no problem

the problem                          carts belts jackets
we didn’t have any

our skin sunburned all of us spoke Spanish

on that side

we didn’t know how we had ended up here
we didn’t know but we understood why they walk

                                          to buy food on this side

its weight.

the blood trickling.  

refused.

me . 

To hide in.

i don’t exist.       

The folds rattle me.

the mechanics of.      

the usage.

Of birth. 

He entered. 

in his hands. 
 
leaning into.

the. 

sight of.     

the lights.   

But i named it.      

Holy.

Or rather question.

my skin.
 
my skin.

Skin i. 

to be. 

Held. 

No.

Distance my.

hand.   

i reject.

i don’t think.

looking for you. 

And.     

i told you 

Blood

 I  obeyed 

            every  move 
            a jaguar in 
                          liquid. 

The gold field and hand,

            light-lit.

I have  god-

          
           because light 
                       dwells.    
          
           We touch light
            one bright
                        desire.
                                    Light lover, 
  
           whistle.

I put mercy

           to light. 
           A scorpion
                         lash of 
                                    god.
      
           Light ocelot
           
                      cliffed,

slopes  into her skin.

           Wind 
           disrupts the
 scatter.
 
This is war,

           its desire
          filled.
 throbs and 
          knees 
           Our light.
                       The  bloom,
                                    violet.

Here is where you will post your erasure/blackout poem