In Uncategorized on July 15, 2009 at 1:24 am


We crusade across

this heaven of dust,

a babel of curves,

and swallow lemon

as a manly trio

trot their horses

round a copperhead hill.

Black-clad caballeros,

leaning toward a road

as yet untrod—

the horses demurely step,

their reins as gently held

as a mujer

who’s fully trusted.

In a town of funny colors,

half-asleep with drought,

I cling to ¿donde està el baño?

the way beggars yank at hems.

In the alley,

beyond a meat-locker—


and decked with hook-hung shanks—

the brick caves in

to mud-painted tile,

a steel mirror cloudy

with fibered scratches

and everywhere the air

is gassed with wrung-out bowels.

The bowls are dammed

with eels of paper,

melted clay,

and all these flies

revolve in witches’ circles

to celebrate tomorrow’s

spawning pools.


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