Three Poems

Collector

*

the first one is a coincidence          
the first one in a collection is not         

having crossed the threshold  
the practice commits

(it seems) it only

makes sense

*

the first encounter      
being a singularity

an impulsion
untimely    

a word
of caution               

a river that cannot be
crossed twice

has stones all over its banks

*                                  

I weigh stones
in palm

like all texts  
my palm convinces

to throw the cold
stones back

to the river

until the next virtue
finds its route

back to the palm                            

with damning intentions         
holding instants

& long

long evaporates

a plea
the palm is

for the mercy
of intents please

I throw

the cold stones away again  

*

in front of the court
I admit
I collect

other people’s pain

in front of the mirror
I admit
I collect

other people’s pain

in front of the mountains
I admit
I collect

other people’s pain    

in front of you I press
the illusory wounds
I admit

*

I collect

other people  

the warm oval

the sharp drone

the habitual    

human action

fail vail                                   

Speculative fiction #1

-

I saw the deer
Among many deers alive

Trees are
Rabbit seconds

Ruby speed; tech
Knee at auto dawn

Arrival is an
Ambush unenviable

All anus labored
A sloth

Cars eventual

-

A table grows sons

Mothers, unclaimed
Daughter cry over

Sugar in air; sugar
Nose - bless you

Crystal, mine kin
Not, job me

A swarm, swam,
Am

-

Miss American, missing
A spleen

Rather a warm
Day it is

Landlord

my landlord said: let there be love
so was love made, snitched

by an ark of comrades
hating life, feet in boiler

eating fecund, tail deep
in teeth, while fire caves

a sun purple, pointing
the rumble of daylight fright

the waste of it all,
the dawn cedes,

that’s when a lover comes -
as my landlord allows -

a rat or raccoon, their face
adjacent to a dancing

heart in dark, mooning
buddha’s eye. slasher

or prophecies, in cruelty
we depend on lamb -

like your arm, fragility is
in this house the only

thing i possess. so said
the land, the lord, the lover

governs this law - in this house

like hell
let there be love. 

Yuyi Chen (they/them) is from Sichuan, China. They are now in a PhD program in anthropology at Johns Hopkins University. They are the author of the chapbook EROTIC CONTINENT (Discount Guillotine, 2025) and their poems are published or forthcoming in Nat. Brut, αntiphony, Landfill, and Pile Press. They go by Echo.

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from A Field of Telephones