G-2, 5 


It’s like the sun on my pussy.


I lay on top of the rainbow and neon


            of a cheap Mexican wrap


The grass pokes through


            and chiggers


            will make me think the better of this


                        when I wake.


Through the course of hours


            that span the infinite


            between two ethereal moments,


                        G-2, 5 moves innumerable digits


                                    lighter than air


                        over undulations that jut beyond


                        the space of my body.


Enumeration;           


            1. pelvis


            2. the round of this stomach


            3. breastplate


            4.         But, this is what I remember unaccountably


                                    I must have been starving


            4. An immense heat pushing vulval lips.


Metaphysics to make me wet.


 


And a lunatic is watching me.


Whose remarks in conversational manner


            ligament to my body


            body, that has  likened


                        to a cloud.


I laugh a pervasive laugh


            like a salvo


            releasing the tension of affected conversation.


Then the bliss of silence


            accompanied by the rustlings of nature.


Lunatic captures this moment


            with a grainy camera phone.


I tell him to pay me a touristas fee


            for the insolence of his photograph.


So he plays a lullaby on his dobro


            eyes never leaving


            Neruda’s peaks and valleys.


 


G-2, 5 still tickles my thighs.


My muscles ripple involuntarily


            and somewhere in all this


            the dobro becomes a dream,


            the sun sets


and I awake


            alone.





(c) 2013 by Yasamin Safarzadeh, all rights reserved

Yasamin Safarzadeh, born and raised in Los Angeles, California, has travelled the nation in search of diversities of American culture.  Along the way she organized multifarious art shows and collaborated with countless artists, in both developing the aforementioned and enhancing their knowledge base.


 


Ms. Safarzadeh funded her way to and from the East coast by constructing massive canvases and then live-action painting on said canvasses at multitudes of music festivals.


Now, back home, in Los Angeles, she is working to acquire her teaching credentials while keeping afloat in the flood of artists and hustlers that dwell in LA.

Still working to be published and performing, Yasamin has not limited the means by which she will satisfy her appetite and enthusiasm for art and for creating accessibility to the thing in her community. Her two chapbooks are available on Google books and a select poem for women’s history month is archived at the Library of Congress in Sacramento.

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