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Elegy for Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Elegy for Lawrence Ferlinghetti looks like wings flying off birds Dust digging as far as it can inside itself             a piece             a piece             a piece. So anyway,             I’m pretty sad you are gone. Pictures gone mad with hope in a gone world That’s how I’m feeling right now.   Do you know you are loved?                                                                              Hope you are okay. So anyway. Take care of yourself, okay? Bye for now. Thank you for liberating me.   -         Jessica M. Wilson 11:17pm 2/23/2021 For Lawrence Ferlinghetti – on his passing. Ometeotl March 24, 1919 (Yonkers, New York)  –  February 22, 2021 (San Francisco, California)
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To the lipstick that made my Mom happy

 To the lipstick that made my Mom happy,  I smelt you today, because the sudden rise of your aroma, a suddenly ripe expiration to a wax well used, sticky, rich, and captivating. A heavy tread across the highlights of your lips. Creases of embarrassed smiles, a guilt of not belonging, or a lessening, or insecurity. Yeah, that's about ripe. But your thickness glamourized my Mom  with your crimson promise, of keeping her young, beautiful, a ritual of engagement with the mirror,   A promise she knew. Always hid. JmWC 11 18 20  1053

When everyone was quarantined, I felt like

  "When everyone was quarantined, I felt like..."           I was caged,  my cord cut,            the outside was in,       and I  wasn’t ready for that. I felt like I was out of time                 – no way to re-plan my life,  no way to be by anyone’s side. I like mapping the scene,     feel heat amongst a crowd,  and now, to stay away from them,  I have to hide. Close myself off  my nature,  to enjoy parties  dancing, all the things               feel more alive…  When that door shut, a hurricane hit. JMWC 9/22/20 from class, Panorama High School, 2020

Top Me

Midnight satisfaction mystical fashion a decade of decadencia thrusts between the shouts. Do it a little longer; and keep me in that place you send me when i go midnight on  your excursion.  An exorcism to say the least. JMWC 1105pm, Sunday 9/6/2020

Sort of a Downer

It's birthday season again!  Yay...  (sarcasm) Gosh, it has been a while since Covid19 made its debut... I think I was thinking it would be gone by now. Yes, the foolish fantasy that we could continue with our lives after 2 weeks of lockdown, but here is August. It's nearly my birthday and I have been wrapping my head around just what I can do to celebrate. Sure, you can say, go low key. Or, "why not be low key, Jessica. Why's it gotta be a big party?". Well, to counter that I'd say, "F&*k off, it's my birthday bish!" But really , I would probably say: 1. I just came out of 3 years of being "Mama", as in new momma, as in "where the hell did Jessica go", as in "when the hell is Jessica coming back?" as in "what do the kids need now?" I haven't been out in a long time. Definitely not the way I used to go out.  2. It's a milestone birthday! Let me rock my milestone and set it off! That's what I

Where I'm At...

Thinking about being 30...clubbing, dancing, moving around town. Sharing drinks and just staying up with the night. ahhh just been a long time since this feeling dominated me. miss it. 

Once Inside You

missing your pressence around my body; the dark and the everlasting light. 11pm walks through the city chasing the curves of sunset clouds and moonbeam peaking,  like your ruffled blouse. the ends of your alleys make me sore, feet caressing every needle, every marble stone, and all those faces meshing eyes, pattern my trotting absurdities. a smoke in the cleansing rain until i am washed into rescue, uncertain how the words will penetrate; travel the sound of swishing lips and damp tongues pulling and curling on time. always on time.  a tempo worth beating into your stalks; your finessed legs pressing, shoving me along deeper, to feel all of you, undressed in the mirror chanting, posing, holding in rapture.  bring me up once again, so i may never forget the taunting hum snapping back like rubber on your pleasant derriere.  jessica m wilson cardenas