Magnum Opus

In San Fernando, May
has become hotter and hotter
every single day and Ice cream
would not suffice
to quench my thirst and worst
this city’s burning waves is peeling
off my dried scarred skin.
I desire cold water
under water like a baptism,
submerged and almost frozen,
the cold and its bitter bite
at the bottom
like an ancient ruined city,
Here, before I dive,
I wonder how long I’ll lie
with the dolphins because
if and only if somehow
the god of death makes a mistake
and puts my body
in the rebirth file section,
I’ll embrace this scorched soul
like a religion
or perhaps or I hope
like Atlanteans, my body is desired
to be discovered by aliens
when my race is extinct
then my bones are to be exquisitely hanged
on the walls,
be sold and sought after.


Jeff William Acosta is a culinary student doubling up as a poet. His earlier works are in Scarlet Leaf Review – November 2020 issue (forthcoming) and The Dribble Drabble Review Issue 3, 2021 (forthcoming).

Sashimi

This morning, I wrote a poem,
an elegy, with a mind of its own
a love letter for myself, my epitaph.
I am slowly filleting the body
out of the skin
beginning from the left
of an almost dead salmon
carving the cheap yanagiba I bought
at the near Japanese warehouse
horizontally angled across
its not so subtle scars
and slice into thin sliced cut
when it’s still awake
against this burgundy
blood-stained board
so he can taste better, this
is true to all animals
they taste better
when they’re hurting
while trying to wag their crucified tails
off of the nail that holds them,
circular and in the rhythm of their gills
like some kind of diabolical
ritual of dancing witches
for stirring cauldrons
to make poisons out
of daffodils and dahlias
that doesn’t smell
of my neighbors


Jeff William Acosta is a culinary student doubling up as a poet. His earlier works are in Scarlet Leaf Review – November 2020 issue (forthcoming) and The Dribble Drabble Review Issue 3, 2021 (forthcoming).

Red

not in rust,
or orange,
or an aftermath.

of scratching budding bug bites.

Clearly,
not those unwanted cells
from your mom’s
spit, still sitting on your belly.

colliding with blood spilling
from bitten skin
creating cobweb crevices on the surface.

I say, it is not coral undertones,
It is even brighter
than burning charcoal from the barbecue stand
on the street.

Warmth.
Not of wildfire,
Raging in my chest, because I
may do something stupid
again, before meeting you.

Under the marmalade skies of San Fernando
where the stop sign lingers,
For a moment
before it turns green.

I did expect to see you there
With those strangers, patiently
holding their bindings despite
the traffic officer’s
reluctance to compromise.

They spoke
in tongues,
while you bit your upper lips plump.

waiting
and wanting


Jeff William Acosta is a culinary student doubling up as a poet. His earlier works are in Scarlet Leaf Review – November 2020 issue (forthcoming) and The Dribble Drabble Review Issue 3, 2021 (forthcoming).