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Sarah Aiko on the chart of the moment.

A Faithless Season

that cardinal plush so stiff we break through all at once;
no snotty trail for faith to follow, moon burning if only, oh, distance wouldn't keep getting in her way;
mashed between fumble and hurt, pressure thumbing through distinct
archaic venus desperate
chain dragging, steel making, won't you just recognize her?
much adieu about nothing build up in the middle of giving up snapping gums right
before it all changes

snaking her way back to the mountain top beneath the creamed sea

that sparkling silence,
noisy bubbles,
noisy pearls chattering,

humbling beast coming off to get off it's all set to gush
the words from our throats
that bitterness
the pulse
my lack
of simplicity; not for what
may be, not for excitement, not for the future I
am simply not interested

and yet, there is
christmas pudding at the beginning
all ears perk up—
what else?— the slow roasted sweet
potato. thrice gently used parchment crinkle eyes apart and in the distance
an entire gaseous planet
green pale vibrant
marzipan, maraschino
glazed wet shining, waving hello
the brain gushes
luxuriously forth;
all jeweled, strawberry red, but deep, like the jammed flesh it was
the rope unfurling snapped tendon springing back elastic nerves of
body, tendril motioning; understand what it's like
to be on fire

I,
unripe, green
lemon, keenly seen

— Sarah Aiko

Sarah Aiko is a poet, baker, astrologer; personal alien and pastry chef for the whims of the body and its pulse, that Giant of this or that.  She currently lives in Maine, writing from somewhere deep in the flesh smoke nectar by the brilliant and frigid sea.  (Instagram/Substack)