Does the Moon Follow?
Mars Angulo

| Fully rotten. Dead weight. 

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Tall child— 

Too small to reach the moon.  

Running in circles, until the wall meets the bone. 

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Waiting on treetops 

So, the body can be filled. 

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There’s nothing. 

Only clouds in the lungs, 

A rosette of succulent deep in the stomach. 

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The empty body is full in every dream– Able to feel something, if not, all. 

But sitting on treetops is no longer fun. 

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In silence, a broken skull overflows 

With red and silver rain. 

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A body, unable to breathe or flinch. 

It remains unfazed and motionless, 

Carrying its decaying heart. 

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Hands weigh on the sternum, 

Clawing itself into the flesh. 

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Mangled by the hands attached– 

Hanged at the neck 

By a thread on its crescent. 

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The heavy body was never full. 

Diluted to nothing with an empty cage. 

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Dreams are always the same; 

Remove the skull, so it can’t see. 

Stuff the lungs with clouds 

The stomach with a Rosette of succulent—

To keep running in the same crater.