T.R. San

Country Roads Between Fields That the Military Seized Will Take Me to the Ultimate Home

(1)

This road lays me down this road I was trudging upon
This road kisses me so hard I fell hello green allure
This road belches, raingrinned manure, how deceptive
This road; smells of blood and post-de-attachment trauma
This road did not really do anything why the active voice

(2)

This road barely exists anymore all the concrete are gone on
This road, and undergirded synonym of grief you really have
This road plus no chance at all, you cannot name a thing below
This road but They are there, and one day you will let the clock
This road rides out of your womb and nourish verdancy
//

my own private nonexistence

too much begging in my poems i’m sick
now. i say, of it | decoy to hear me my bio
-organized mass | orthogonal in all my
repositories all tributaries to All | All
happened some day everyday all the time
i do not remember | the repositories memorialize
him/her/it/them/us/me i do not remember
| & kind queers are only popular when they’re dead |
when they’re sociobiological weapons the kind
to surf over | drink out of | love under/lavender
for some bionatural questions philosophy bio-
science bioself the ultimatum | bodies a question
loose of innards | just plastic | let’s be respectful |
so yeah i infuse nonremembrance unrembering into
paycheck | unto me | the way i say please
the way i say still | the way i still | my blood
stills | & i am biological i weigh something look at me

nowhere is a place you can find
where i think of pluto
being that of absence
too present we wonder at
that we cannot remedy

i feel nothing
tearing a hole
with its forearm bones

i live and isn’t (;)
“not” a word that carries

under a hospital headlight
, his magnum opus
from presence among bodies
them, dream of questions
, revel in the disease.

and nothing is a feeling
, making the hole whole
painted negative space.

that something? isn’t
meaning?

pluto probably has a hole in his heart and we will never know


T.R.San (they/them) is a queer poet based in Yangon who writes horror without meaning to. Their work has been published or is forthcoming in Cobra Milk Magazine, Erato Magazine, and others