Declaration Form, U.S. Border

Wednesday, July 15, 2020
  • Family Name:
  • Peach In An Unlit Orchard
  • First (Given):
  • Lantern, or Paper Lantern, Not Glass
  • Birth Date: Month:
  •                                                          When
    A siege of mirrors wrests sovereignty
    Away from our taut skin.                  When
    Daffodils burgeon from bloodsheds,
    Pistils washed into new bullets.       When
    Flesh turns burgundy, too frail to confront
    Anything tended by flesh.                When
    Did all that happen?
  • Day:
  •                                                          When
    Bones are filled
    With evening rainstorms
  • Year:
  • Briefly old in cerecloth of snow
  • Predicted Death Date:
  •                                                          When
    Eternity is stitched
    Within one blink of your eyelids
  • Employment:
  • Flaneur of a Grander Departure
  • Part-Time Job:
  • Somnambulist (with blue dreams glued in my hair)
  • Family Members:
  • Dead, as you wish. Dead,
    If you let me enter.
  • Ethnicity:
  • Cellophane
  • Spouse:
  • Lost, from the beginning. If not,
    Lose that person in a second.
  • U.S. Accommodation:
  • Street:               Where-Clovers-Crack-the-Alloyed-Air
    Avenue:             Decimated-by-the-Suffocated-Siren
    Apartment:        Butterfly-Burdens-a-Summer-Garden
    Unit:                   Solitude-is-No-Longer-a-Hygienic-Barometer
  • Destination City:
  • Lactescent Cataracts, Ovidian Scaffolds,
    Unregimented Dance of Arrows
    Breeding Wounds For An Absent St. Sebastian.
  • What Do You Wear:
  • Nakedness is the last clothes I cannot take off.
  • Truth or Dare:
  • Either could kill me.
  • Passport Issued By:
  • Charades Are None of My Situation.
  • Passport Number:
  • Nostalgia-2-Noumenon-7-Verandah-3-and-other-prime-numbers.
  • Country of Residence:
  • Charades Are None of My Situation.
  • Countries Visited:
  • Republic of Watertight-Sanitized-Bureaucracy.
    Commonwealth of Murder-My-People-In-History.
    Commonwealth of Murder-Your-People-Now.
    Empire of I-Am-Not-Making-My-Body-A-Weaponry. Empire
    Of You-Don’t-Believe-I-Am-Not-Making-My-Body-A-Weaponry.
    Empire of You-Make-Me-To-Make-My-Body-A-Weaponry.
    Colonies of United Separation. Countries of Let-Me-In.
    Countries of Kick-Me-Out. I tightrope borderlines.
  • Reason of Visit:
  • Hamburger & fried chicken. Escape from peaches. Look at stars.
    Sing in the rain. Look at stars again. Forget human masts.
    Detach nerve fibers in a constellatory laboratory that are linked
    To the oceanic wrinkles of my cerebra; your American Dream.
  • Flight #/Vessel Name:
  • Neglect Your Torrid Body Untenanted As A Sandal On Beach
  • Items You Bring With:
  • Pocketful of periplums & Bulletproof recollection of trees.
  • Preexisting Impression
    of U.S:
  • Prehensile is not a post-requisite of an oculus.
    Nevertheless—imagine your own efflorescence,
    The way you dis(re)member a yellowing face.
  • Additional Information:
  • It pains my brain to cut open a peach—its veined flesh a map
    Of an unfit land. Mortal boundaries shall shatter when you
    Look at me. Look at me—between my eyes and your skin,
    There is a constant warfare. Conqueror is the burnt-down air.
  • Signature:
  • Peach In An Unlit Orchard Paper Lantern, Not Glass
Wednesday, July 15, 2020