Sergio Ortiz
	Topography     this is my story and place of birth   a wheelchair a body wrapped in a sack   a childhood jerked around like an unwarranted curse   and the stubborn useless desire for a pair of tailored hands   climbing up my thighs         Timeless     You, in my gravest hour, perfumed with silence—what images   caused your fruit to fall?  You left me shooting cannonballs at non-existent stars.   Nothing ever removed the water you gradually painted on my lips,   no theatres, nightclubs, tuxedos. Not even jetliners or churches.