this is a hand made poem
with scissors, blood, baby silk and paper
fool to believe that emmigration is a pattern
my footprints are no mexican, iranian but romanian
too pink, or maybe too smooth
for rough usa streets( though I have been told
that they're using shampoon and conditioner)

so I'll leave

I have a good recipe for making poems
first you suffer and write what you feel
then you cut the fat, divide by two and peel
off the skin( a good cook shared this with me)
but I hate bare souls displayed on golden bowls
or new born lambs I'll better make a dress
from words like see you, bye

and I'll leave