Four poems by Lucas de Lima


Spork's Poetry
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Four poems by Lucas de Lima


Broken Hummingbird Heart

"You die & so do I—


A sentence flits away from Ana Maria's period,

knotted stems choking floral embroidery,

each word racing to a hole in my pillow case @

1260 beats per minute.

My mouth trickles or drips. Other hummingbirds swoop,

dazzling my brain,

suspending suburban malaise. TEARLESSNESS.

My beak returns to Ana Maria's throat. Feeding.

On cloudy nights when she dies again I have to perform such dives—

rose-colored blur

thudding on a pillow. I can't be any wetter than the line

"I get depressed after masturbating."



Ana Maria's Space still exists

I hold onto her mouse & dash through lightning

Fleeting eyes behind screens

Drown & surface

Ana Maria & I are clicking so fast our tails can't catch up with us

Drop in the mud

It is not a hacker we pursue

Or a wireless connection to bathe in

We want a waterfall in the Space we digitize together

I maximize windows when Ana Maria throws a seed at me

Keep MySpace blank for her

Her body had to spread when she died

Across webbed sites


A National Geographic special that re-enacted the attack

A rainy garden

A hundred tears I cried in Spain

After getting the Skype call


Your Valley: My Anus

A thousand horns whose pointed tips graze our calves as we twirl & laugh.

Sheep circle us like mirrorballs.

"You're the only other boy in the world."

My face reddens then my hair. Blood spurts out of what was blue skin.

Ground so slick we're afraid to keep dancing I'm a puddle after you speak. Smeared &

melted lipstick over hooves.

I smile at you—ripple—while a million

multi-colored balloons rise in the sky you see them on my surface filled with California


The sheep soak the light up they kneel on me.

My blood mixes with their fleece their bodies turn pink.

While fireworks explode you don't feel alone with your sheep.

You just want the fireworks to change the color of flowers branches crows.

You wait for a rainbow to accompany the disco it goes on after I'm dry in the choir of



Wax Brazilian

Wind swirls words like Cum here but I'm not naturalized.

I am a mottled presence from the Amazons of crying.

I hate the Ashbery Bridge it's too hot in my body to stand still & read in Minneapolis.

I stain surfaces with my sweat ejaculate a sigh O my father land!

I drink the milk of older sloths who lift their shirts for me, their sheets.

A jaguar draws a line in my belly & splits it.

A child pops out. My family spills out of zoology.

I stop trimming pubic hair so my forests feel thick again.

With crabs, claws—they protect my juicy fruits.


Lucas de Lima is an MFA candidate at the University of Minnesota. He writes about shame, animals, and vibration on the multi-author blog His reviews and poems have appeared in Scrivener Creative Review, Mudfish, Rain Taxi, ABJECTIVE, and Action Yes.