on being right

there is a warm flesh neck and it shakes its tassels to spell your name

you’ve bestowed a spell that moves a way i can’t sequence

i’ve gone through reverse hulking, sulking into a pool of skin, a poem prompt machine with cherry slots, 666s and no poems

there are misconceptions here in the mirror, my eye and your tone

i’m not better at words, precision cuts of things, text tongs and / or my therapy record didn’t reach communication cool since i left the last zoom call 6 years ago

i rawdogged an assault

i let a bitch ride a wave on my genuine back

the magic of our work is not in the deepest pits of barking in the park

and orgasms can be explained

each wall you punch reveals a number

men are coming to be, to shape poetry, and i bequeath you all a ticket to Kordin

i need clarity and grease if you want this poem stripper to pop right

there are always two ways to death

one way can be with round cafe tables on a living corner watching the sun bend while i write on my macbook pro

another can be with a huge inner container of acid

when people ask what i write, what i am being when i am in right

i tell them i write about the first thought pussy crowning

and the last lick

22 reflections remembered

1. karaoke in the mirror always feels the way convenience-bought-anything does and doesn’t try to be. 
   
   
2. sepia body looking back in Basel after long days in the studio.
   
   
3. harsh check ins with unforgiving round face edges - the drugs have kicked in.
   
   
4. streets. With metal linings - compact car mirrors refracting. The shoulders, pacing. 
   
   
5. the soft porous eye pools of lovers - promising without warrantee.
   
   
6. bent bodies over raw at the sex hotel. getting off to your own genitalia.
   
   
7. coat flood in NYC skyscrapers.
   
   
8. green haze holding pasts. Governed by other laws.
   
   
9. skin, exact, ice dagger. I can fuck anyone. I wake up.
   
   
10. the grossest cloud in the world - looking back on the bed frame.
    
    
11. mother’s compact mirror with lip rouge and tined sunscreen.
    
    
12. drug alters.
    
    
13. thinking about fuck you corners at unreasonable hours.
    
    
14. angled romance in the U-bahn.
    
    
15. dead shelves for tourist fat in Lafayette
    
    
16. the Mediterranean vomiting beautiful diamonds.
    
    
17. intentional brain freeze posing. A self-fee.
    
    
18. scrambled egg traffic hovering out a baseless cafe window.
    
    
19. main character energy. A slim orbit gushing on the sea mountain to Messina.
    
    
20. clockwork smoke in finger bars.
    
    
21. the biggest room at nothing happening.
    
    
22. glass eye in the dirty sins of looking to home. •

Sam Alekksandra (b.1998) is a Maltese artist and poet whose work spans poetry, installation, video and performance. She has exhibited as a solo artist and with her collective PONKS in South Korea, China, Malta, Tunisia, France and Germany. Her debut poetry collection, politics of touch, was published in 2023. She is finishing another poetry collection.

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