Illumina- stoma-- makeup

Xiner Lan

Have seen their crystal fruits, yes, pretty
‘grow up then you can eat them’, it said
A decade of reaching hands, still shorter than
Supposed                  background noises: screaming  
ecstasy and intimacy, while me: confused.  

Some kid can’t give birth to a smile, supposed
Its vegetation blocked by asphalt
glued well, in a gulp. Only to stretch me thinner,  
sand me nicer           better upper above  
the treetop, sufficiently enough to surpass  

And fall.  
Supposed to harvest something, anything
day after day at ease,               yet that invisible fear,                 chafing skin,
                                                                                  now and then,                            already
a wound.  

                                    limping passed every hill, everything a mirage   
                   until the waves touched the mucosa
        pick out the salts, some pink crystals
when night is up

Swallowing so no talking
Every light, the color of tin
Indifferently vivacious, too young the moonlight has been  
             fermented, never enough to last-
the tender ones, rice paper thin
in flames, faint still, cold grin  
Smoke breaks,  
                            flow scattering
A real rumination following a pretended cough of thirst, I am gastric.
Stomach tastes sour.

Xiner is in the water drinking water (maybe).