by B. Montemayor David Pupăză let it be of mangoes. of hearts cast in stone. or else, inanimate objects with a hairpin’s mortality. i want to be the patron saint of women trapped in flea market paintings, their knowing gaze a mirrored stillness. perhaps a mise en abyme, an artistic abyss. the kind of death i’ll only get to know when i am canonized for my trivial deeds. let me be the patron saint of lost, defunct websites whose links wormhole into a 404 Error, where poetry in