Carlota Gamboa

I LOVE COMPUTER

the solitary i grips a type of magic.
i blink in mercurial possibility.
i become a night that won't yield
but opens bright like snow
marks the season—

✦

isn’t it astounding? turning on
a great humming machine &
wearing it? it makes me go
whoosh; away. i ride so fast
it rips a moth-hole in spacetime. 

✦

i’m not very sexy but i work and suddenly i’m
reminded of how unremarkable sentences are
still infrastructure like doors like if there’s no
entry then there’s no room and how could one
get close to a desired destination with no hinge
amidst thought and experience and pure
momentum is fine in the meantime but if it’s just
erudite fixture instead of a face how will it eat

✦

— of introspection. a capacious
field is repurposed into a still.
it’s the end of the year,
so i’m having a party.

✦

i’m having a party
i’m having a dog
i’m having a blistered
drop off the sink’s steel
finger    i’m having
the seasons and their glass
doors revolving.   what
the wind-peeled anthers left
on my porch.   i’m having
the circular mouth of time
O satellites      at the edge
of stupidity      i’m having
how ferns unroll themselves
fastest under the least sunned-
through canopy    i see, i see it
a blinking cursor colored blue.

CARLOTA GAMBOA is a poet and art writer from Los Angeles, CA. She spends the majority of her time as an assistant to independent film sales agents, and the rest of her days losing to her mom in pickleball. You can find her work in Oversound Magazine, Salt Hill Journal, Denver Quarterly, Bodega Magazine, Outlook Springs, and now Bennington Review.