insular: struggles of speech not a remedy. the innings, oversewn. tightly round the pleasures that could. hypothetical, the wolf night carry. through nerves, something smooth. the limber uncanny. clusters of could, of course, as the preface.
deadnamedata disturbs me. daniel: the danielings all around. white noise dyes my days. dialled to none. down the curve of a torso, something undone. this is a form of pain (primal). these are the terms through which i am each-dayed. in doubtful times, in crisis continued, durational: the distances that yawn us apart, our. four walls, apart. a screen is a screen, and not yet a flavor. my name, my name; your data, your data.
salloh then i say hello, & give this to me: the awkwardness of my angles, the precarious joy of my contours. the strident humors of my loving and labors. the threaded dashes of colour, miscalculated to seven. purple, blue and pink enfleshed. and yes, here i am laughing. black, grey and gold later: the gay geometry, something ancient. archival beauty discontinuous. the interruption of something lived and had. the chords of a mythos, craved; the chords of a symbol made. salomé is something arcane; something simple, as well. a person inbetween, somewhere.
then i faggot, futch and tensed. the past tense, presenting. the future tensing the pronouns at hand. temporal autography, brute with cleverness. the stark curve of a category, cut more severely than my: smile, spine, or capacity to abide. these cannot quite compete. i am [a man] once; one might well [man me] again. i am [being manned], as usual. no laughter, no gain.
tremolo on the narrative: divide. that is the then, this is the what. the texture of the ocean as the surface of thought. busy quarrels of nothing in particular, across a period of time i forgot. event minimal, total, and the everyday plural. the one detail dilluted, without residual debt. the longitude of the arch, the good ache of the ocean,
where the skin sings to be.
torn or sung or complete.
texts get finished, processes depleted; the tongue spent to breathless points of indefinition. the airs surrounding enfold, pronoun. me a there, with abundants: the reds, the greens, the redundants. the shades of summer are fires. their stench wills me back and forth. and my basin, my in? that is the where of: gender,
detach. my grammar from sovereignty.
take care of me.
can i femme when in doubt? my name wavers again. the waves of the sea still visible from most points of boredom, movement, or empathy. the times spent anon, set on their own objectivity. am i salloh enough, now? salloh enough yet? does the sibilant semblance assuage my dysphoric, my saline disastrous, my here-hissing-body? am i a body speaking, sure enough of its signature, not to cry the already torn?
its own doubt, or being unborn.
scarlike fancy, object unspecific.
you of nothings, or wind if at all,
you, you tell me this:
am i failing into being?
is my love mine alone to waste?
does the strength of friendship
read fully in the giving?
do i register multiple on (a) singular cell?
can we love the ours which come
through, and then swiftly dispel?
am i personned or present or pretty enough,
versus powerful stupid or tough
for some poem to song to you something
akin to a spell or a problem?
(if it's okay to ask you these questions, of course.)
if it's okay to leave them with you; if
they are sometimes yours to be held.
and here come fracass the precise
compass of my intent : ___, ___, ____,
& ___, yet again.)
Salomé Honório (they/them) is a poet and researcher based near Lisbon, Portugal. They hold a PhD from the University of Lisbon, on political equivocality in the work of U.S. writer Kathy Acker, and currently hold a position as a post-doctoral researcher, working on the (post-)colonial imaginary and future configurations of urban space. Their work departs from core commitments to trans, feminist, and queer politics.