By Ana Penavić
Cento compiled from Troubadour Logic written by Brent Terry, and from The Bijak of Kabir translated by Linda Hess
Son of a slut!
there’s no hope:
I’ve burned my own house down.
A dumb man illumines
“I’m the greatest.
My house is secure.
Let the house burn, as long as my things
Think! Think! Figure it out!
Death has you by the hair.
Sunday blazes bluey-white. Elevenish, & February, well
February’s love filches daylight, sells it back
Of devotion or separation in mindless confusion.
a second—oh yes!—a second of where-the-fuck-am-I?
and then maybe later,
we’ll have pie.