Simon Anton Niño Diego Baena spends most of his time on the road with his wife, Xandy. His poems have already been published in The Bitter Oleander, Osiris, Catamaran Literary Reader, Gravel, Rut+Moth, After the Pause anthology, The James Franco Review, UCity Review, Lingerpost, and many more..
The magnum opus persists in the evening
So the wind begins in the room after every funeral — leave-takings are always intimate, especially in the rain, she says, her voice like shattered glass, a shard echoing in the hallway beside my shadow. Here, time is regained by howling; that her kiss is as distant as the cathedral in the fog whenever she whispers: home. She hears the grief of trees coming from the microwave oven, she reeks of incense; what is felt is felt, constantly, like the sting of an ambulance siren. Listen. The clock is ticking. The moon is certain that summer draws near as a forest fire — her blistered mouth speaks against the stillness of windows, of parks, of bridges, of clouds. Late at night, the widows are waiting for the urn.
It was after staring at Nietzsche's portrait when his brain was ravaged with syphilis that I decided to write this poem. After my father died I was sick with insomnia. Instead of hating the twilight, I was more drawn into it.
Glass: A Journal of Poetry is published monthly by Glass Poetry Press.
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