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Puerto del Sol

Weirding it up since 1964.

Puerto del Sol is funded by New Mexico State University and the Mercedes Delos Jacobs Fund, and designed and operated by the students of the MFA in Creative Writing program.

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Four Poems

February 15, 2019

 

Lucifer as Adolescent 

 

after Kazim Ali 

 

He likes movies a lot: 

the thought of an actor’s skin 

turned to light. He 

 

tells people he likes plot 

which really means 

he likes conflict. Watching 

 

the dance that leads up  

to denouement or tragedy. He likes 

all the terminology, especially 

 

shot and frame. A good shot 

is full of emphasis, he says 

when talking about his film: 

 

it opens with a man 

and woman silhouetted 

in front of a window, 

 

bigger than they are, exposing 

the sky. The chiaroscuro 

lighting pushing the figures  

 

towards the audience. He doesn’t 

want them to know what  

the man says, but wants 

 

to skip over it, to the woman’s 

reaction shot: her lips parting 

slowly, her jaw angling. She’s 

 

about to shout at the man when  

the shadow of a bird’s wing runs 

across her face. He told me 

 

about this scene on the subway,

coming home from class. She’s, only 

for a moment, swallowed by darkness

 

 

 

 

 

Poem Wishing that the Alt-Right Starts Believing in the Occult 

 

My generation’s nationalists are really boring, 

especially Richard Spencer who’s on TV 

 

talking about the racial threat immigration poses, 

which is really just a recycled line from less 

 

than 100 years ago, which is probably why he started 

doing the Nazi salute, except back then 

 

nationalists also had vaguely scientific ideas 

via eugenics, and many eugenicists believed 

 

themselves to have occult-like superpowers.  

Watching this makes me feel like I’m trapped 

 

in a movie: outside the frame is the button 

that will allow me to fast-forward past all this. 

 

My favorite chapter of The Immortal Life 

of Henrietta Lacks discusses Nobel Prize winner 

 

Alexis Carrel who attempted to make blood cells 

from a chicken heart reproduce forever 

 

so that he could allow financially well-off Aryans 

eternal life while all others went extinct, 

 

(his ability was clairvoyance). If I could 

fast-forward into the future, so that all this talk 

 

is archived footage, I’d like to write  

a book that some future person could read  

 

and think more of these nationalists 

than I do: they’d say This could make for good 

 

conversation as they put the book down. 

 

 

 

 

 

Nihilism Summer 

 

The moon is a telescope for the sky.

Or is it that the crystal Dante saw

behind the planets was one cracked lens

 

unintelligible to anyone from the mortal

side of existence? Or is it just me? Blood

running down my jaw from the punch

 

I took in front of the speak easy

in the first circle of hell, because

I told the bartender that I was here

 

during the last harrowing, when Jesus

descended and picked up people

he liked like dolls, and no one here

 

will make the cut next time. The only thing

visible tonight is the moon

which you said looked like a ring

 

that a finger can’t fit through since

it’s already full of light

and love. It was a surprising

 

and pointless thought

that quickly faded into the echoing

sighs that fill the air.

 

 

 

 

 

Hypersphere 

 

In Dante, the universe is constantly shifting

in relation to where one is, so that

when on earth, Satan is at the center, and

 

when one is among the stars, everything slides

as if on gears so that God is the center.

In non-Euclidian geometry, this shape is called a hypersphere.

 

The concept is not too different from when,

in the queer theory class, we talked about the intersection

of sexuality and race, and I playfully said And actually,

 

I’m just the least white person in the room. Something

I wouldn’t clarify when walking down the street

and people think I’m hispanic

 

and maybe a woman. The man outside

the gas station hollers sister at me, but

when he hears my voice he bums me for change.

 

I keep walking block-by-block, transmuting

as fast as the uncertain earth around me.

 

 

 

 

 

Anthony Sutton's poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, Cosmonaut's Avenue, Midwestern Gothic, Third Coast, and elsewhere.

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