2 Poems by Seneca Basoalto

sen

Capote 
.
I live in venerable skin of temple, fermented and collapsing,
damned and haunted by the eradication of how all at once
you existed
alabaster emblem coughing and leaving earthquakes
along the potholes and sidewalk weeds,
you snuff the paparazzi,
pelicans and pecans invading chin and belly – a bellow
of monologue stampeding the ball of your fist like Capote
and priest, empty pizza trays lodged like lust
inside the pockets of your cheeks, decaying teeth
as one by one you lost Leo sunrise and moon in Cancer,
baritone and cocoa barrage, the alphabet of erotic timing
comforted by squirrels under sleepy hollow banks,
the way you suckled on woven fabric in a farmhouse –
I authored my worth from how stiff your bones became
when your fingers were plump and turned air to plums,
and I puckered my strep throat to siphon your life like maple
from stumpy legs that knotted roots with the libertine,
I did everything to deserve how traumatic this all became.

.

Unknown Things
.
I stared into his wake, and I did not dare to see anything else –
.
Here lies involuntary fear, the earth converging around
both births and an inactive set of lungs from a
clandestine pauper who bites, who squeezes
stumpy hands around breasts like he would an old orange –
metre of black felicity and elbows, all of which
you forgot
.
Deign the freckles of deity – the resulting ash on a crown
of monsters swaying and seizing the rotation of every sound
you make – your throat echoing into the waves of the ocean
.
My love becomes salt. My words become dry.
my heart becomes residue of sand and sediment
prophesying your complaints into correlation with
my sentiment as if those strings were attached
at the hip (or the groin) staging blocks of melted
Parisian candle wax along the downtempo trod of
inebriated flat feet that have no sense of direction and
are connected to a body with no concept of distance
.
I live far from famous graves and avoid the oral fixation
to lozenge on a tongue that could impregnate me
through all seven layers of death and spirit, four
little flower petals pressed like algebra between the
pages of a soiled book
.
I muffle the sigh of my love, as it is filled with unknown things.

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seneca
Seneca Basoalto is a student of Psychology and Philosophy with over 24 years of published creative writing experience. Having a background in the backstage music/movie scene – she’s congregated a myriad of strange experiences and used them to fuel her insightful writings. Seneca’s defiant edge and chimerical psyche instigates self-reflection in the eyes of readers. Her Iberian lineage can be seen influencing the attitude and magnetism of her diverse range of work. Some of her works include philosophical essays featured through SNHU, a collection of poems included in a Love Anthology released by Z Publishing, a book of love poems titled Captain & the Scientist for sale through Barnes & Noble and Amazon, Therapeutic Writing Program Coordinator for A.R.I.A., as well as poetry collections published through Glasgow Review of Books, Words Dance, Barrow Street, and The Moth. Currently she is a submission reader for Frontier Poetry. https://senecabasoalto.com/
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