CASSANDRA TROYAN [18.162]

Cassandra Troyan 

(Estados Unidos, 1986). Es una escritora, organizadora, y ex-artista que creció en Columbus, Ohio, donde obtuvo una licenciatura en Historia del Arte y Estudios de Cine en la Universidad Estatal de Ohio y un MFA en Arte Visual de la Universidad de Chicago. 

Troyan es la autora de:

Blood (2013), Blacken Me Blacken Me, Growled (2014) y Kill Manual (2014). 

Todos los niños se fueron a casa / 

Los hombres son todos barbudos

Cuando 1.000 pájaros muertos caen del cielo,

no hay donde guarecerse

no hay enclave

en este que la jodan

en su mentalidad, en esta

conspiración visceral de disidentes.

Nosotros, los mutilados.

Nosotros, el hombre que se inclina

con el sombrero arrugado

en la mano, pregunta:

¿qué?

Se levanta,

aguarda.

Pero hay fruta.

Y tenemos manos.

Venga.

¿Lo ves?

Y él puede alzar la vista y suspirar, ¡es tan bonito!

Y decir, sí, ya lo veo, ¿pero qué quiere decir?

El dolor nos vuelve sentimentales.

Cassandra Troyan, incluido en Vomit: Antología de poesía joven norteamericana (El Gaviero Ediciones, Almería, 2013, selecc. de Luna Miguel, versión de Luna Miguel).

I'mma Sell My Guns

THE CASTLE THAT ONLY GOD KNOWS

How strange to love a thing like mouthwash.

I would like to gargle your cum.

I want to fuck in the park.

I want to piss on yr chest.

I will smash my clit into yr sternum.

Actually just look at my face please and let me sit on yr chest.

I’m going to punch you in the dick,

spill water on yr 15” MacBook Pro.

I will need more fidelity. I will not give up.

I will show up at yr apartment

and ring the buzzer and wait

outside even after you let me in

and I will breathe through the building

exhaling into the speaker

our face could never be that close.

Go to the bathroom with me.

Come in my mouth in my esophagus

impossible

repetitive sexy failures.

It’s so easy to feel that adulthood

is closing in on something

rather than opening up.

The wants of our bodies to all meld together

this one doesn’t like a hip touch

another one no hair tug

because his father used to pull

him by his hair

but you are the only person

who has hurt me how I wanted

and then more than I wanted

until I wanted more.

IMMA SELL MY GUNS AND THEN TAKE 

YOU TO VEGAS

I dreamt of being with you in bed

but I couldn’t see the bed.

Every time I closed my eyes to try to see,

I was bombarded with an image of a flower

exploding again and again

shivering its path into my vision.

A hatchet forced into the ground

becoming a flag.

I will destroy myself so I won’t need to kill.

To have the strength to stand for your own selfish hate.

To run against a stream of something like disaster.

Look at me, I have a body

and it moves in space

for when the heart gets blunted

head is foggy.

I want to be in a way of thinking that is only feeling.

There is never a time when anything doesn’t matter.

Nothing is inevitable.

Even a wound is a child.

What do you fear?

No tears for the creatures of the night.

They rest in gold milk.

It’s melancholy at golden hour and all we have room for is

Black Bile

Black Bile

Black Bile

It catches your lungs then your wrist like a shackle

as all I really want is for a peacock to stand on my chest.

Is that really too much to ask?

I don’t want children

I just want to be your mother.

I want to hold a rock in my mouth

and offer it you as an egg.

To put grapes in your mouth

and drool through the fruit.

To feel contented by the idea of not thinking, not just

not thinking in the syrup of a want.

I really believe in absolutely nothing except everything

as it’s easy to be afraid of something true. 

.