Despierta Sonámbulo

An Excerpt from: Black Lavender Milk

Angel Dominguez



Xix: you were a watchmaker with a jewelry store in downtown L.A.; a dealer in time, you tuned quartzite: 32,768 Hz and whistled for me to follow through the subway. A bag of avocados and lemons, 3 oranges kept us quiet while waiting to arrive. I’ve kept every departure: they occupy a small wooden box below blue jars. I want(ed) you to know how I’ve roamed in search of stones, in search of other portals, in hopes of finding you somewhere with(in) a dream; I’m always trying to blur reality, nodding off into the person next to me, running into me running into me running into 4am instability. Breaking into an airport; running for the orchard. I remember things that are (not) happening, say, continuing from where we left off: soft syllables made of mud; water witching up a spell for something like transport, something like continent, something like crystal-memory; I press a tip of quartz to my tongue and run west up mountain, far from the ocean; I still smell salt when there’s a hint of blood—I bit my tongue—caught managing a mongrel timeframe not fit for linearity: somnambulism(s) last(ing) a flock of years; here I find myself failing to write an “orchard,” attempting instead: a continent within a dim body, not yet formed and tired from running:





I only want(ed) to arrive.




Angel Dominguez is a Kunzite coyote who writes things. He is the co-founding editor of Tract/Trace: an investigative poetics journal. His first book, Black Lavender Milk, is forthcoming from Timeless, Infinite Light in September 2015.