The steel cage around my chest
feels tight
the bull in me
roaring, huffing and puffing
is ready to run back home
if only for a few days
I'm sick homesick
My eyes are tearing
sometimes
my heart is naked and bloody
humbled by the heights, my spirit
ready to board the aluminum bird
with it's loud hissing chant
I'm ready
my soul is ready
to climb to the top of the post
and dance in circles
with earth, water, wind and fire
as the Papantla Flyer that I am
I'm ready to take the road to Aztlan
Will you be there waiting for me?
will she be there?
What if I expect your heart
open like an umbrella?
The colorful marketplace, fresh fruit
pinatas and the man selling balloons
what if I expect the streets
to cry in rain?
ride on the orange snakes
that travel underground
Witness the sunset at the Pyramid of the Moon
overlooking the Avenue of the Dead
in Teotihuacan
Walk the cobblestone streets in Tepoztlan
while my eyes go looking
for flying saucers in the sky
and spend some nights and days
in my home, with my roots and my womb
to my Mother and to where I am from
there I could die and sleep in peace
Meet with old friends
and talk about how we are getting older
meet their kids and see me as an uncle
and yes, why not? sin with a lover
and drink her honey water "aguamiel"
But my stubborn spirit yearns for the darkness as well
the path to Mictlan is calling me
to the underworld, the parallel
to Mizquic and celebrate the dead
the dead that are coming back
while I immerse in a stupor of copal
myrrhand frankincense
sailing through a cemetery of masks
skulls and candles
chants, rosaries and prayers
and the souls of some of those we miss
like my soul misses some of you
and when you take the children trick or treating
remember I'll be in Mexico
sweating in the hot steam of the temazcal
letting my spirit run free
that's my treat
no tricks
just magic.
Some poets sink ships
Some songwriters make tears
Some directors make dreams
Some paintors make worlds
Richard Wright made atmospheres
So long my friend
thank you for the music
I'm glad I got to see you twice
I'll be seeing you on the dark side.
Richard died 15 September 2008.
Cup of coffee
to open the blinds
pull the curtains
on this day
not sunday or tuesday
not any day
just today
yesterday's evil twin
Again, the sun is out today
shining bright
from my bedroom I can see
jumbo's taking off to distant lands
from Boeing field
Laundry piled up
yesterday's latte on my bedside table
our black and white portrait as headboard
and a fan determined with twisting air
like I'm obsessed with something else
I can breathe and sip on coffee
rested and ready to live
to work, to drive this life up the hill
the shower is steaming
my nakedness undressing
and the mirror unforgiving
Nothing's changed
my horns are still barely visible
arms and fists are steel and iron
the raging bull is back
and I'm gone.
The clock can keep counting my days
with its merciless impatience
...and the heart can keep pumping blood
sometimes I really don't care.
But these pearls?
what am I to do with these pearls?
throw them back in the Ocean?
make a wish for oysters to yawn?
...and these pictures?
am I to fold them into a glossy paper airplane?
throw it and wish it went back in time?
But how?
How the fuck how?
As I stand before this cauldron of despair
stirring a blackbird in awe and disgrace
it's Madness!
that's all she said it was
madness.
As if my heartache could be cured by a doctor
as if a stethoscope could remove her voice from my soul
as if a pill and weekly conversations could undo this.
Madness.
For love so deep, is woven.
The pearls I threw on the bay
the pictures paper airplane became
I threw away your letters and cards
and the love I tried to recycle
but that failed
again
now my heart is stuck in the shredder
as the genie grants its third wish
for this love was so deep
it was almost madness
and in the fog of the prairies of the south
my soul and ghost will wander aimless
like a blackbird amongst flotsam
and jetsam.
I'm torn because I don't really know what happened, but it's clear I've been lied to.
Bill Clinton: should have stopped the Taliban and Al Qaeda as well as enforcing control over Visas and those here on Visa. He was four knee cating Monica Lewinsky and granted, maybe I would have too, but still, he lied.
George W. Bush: should have given the memoranda regarding the threats with the seriousness that our National Security deserves, he should have sent more troops to Afghanistan and Pakistan to capture Bin Laden and should have frozen all of the Bin Laden and Royal Arab assets in the U.S in exchange for Bin Laden's head. He invaded Iraq and made an incredible profit by giving all contracts to Halliburton and disrupting the Oil market, he lied.
Bin Laden: Assasin, puppeteer manipulator and transgressor of a religion, convincing mothers to send their sons and daughters to the slaughter when in America there is tolerance, he lied.
Pope John Paul II, Pope Benedict and Catholic Priests: should have resurrected Torquemada and the inquisition against the priests raping little altar boys. Instead you have weakened the Catholic and Christian religions, you lied.
John McCain: Worked extensively with Joe Biden in a resolution to the Iraq exit strategy, but now has forgotten all about it and agrees with a draft, a longer deployment in Iraq and has rejected several GI Bills, he lied.
Conspiracy Theorists: You make me question the validity of everything and just because of that I thank you, I still don't know if you lied.
Sarah Palin: You lied, that is why you won't talk to the press. That lipstick, it looks gorgeous on you. ....ok I lied.
The troops fallen in Iraq and Afghanistan, the Firefighters and Police Officers killed at the World Trade Center died with honor reminding us what courage, patriotism and heroism is in its purest form.
The children of these brave American men and women whom have died on these coward attacks, these wars: they are the ultimate victims, and they deserve TRUTH.
"The love of truth has its reward in heaven and even on earth.”
- Friedrich Nietzsche
Now Olbermann
Which is the right path?
why can't I just focus on this instant?
past and future have conspired
to steal my present
worry and guilt have partnered
to keep me from dreaming
migraines and back pain
don't let me live
and my demons
so pretty
and scantily dressed
distract me and tempt me
with apples and Cristal shoes
and distance
and my daily Irish car bomb optimism
remind me that there's no better time for depression
than the present.
This blog, funnel cake, AM radio, paella, nerve net, guacarock (Mexican Rock Music), poetry butchery and idiotic written letter extraordinaire started 3 years ago as an attempt to improve my English (putting some skin on the game) through constructive criticism. Which was a failure, since nobody reads this blog.
Therefore I would like to celebrate the 3 year anniversary with my dear friend Spell Check, it has not been literature, but what fun.
We would also like to acknowledge our relentless sponsor:
"Zandunga Bubblegum" Now in Sugar-Free Peach Melba
- "Zandunga Bubble Bubba Gum -it's nasty, but you chew it".
2nd - Finally diagnosed with Chronic Prostatitis and therefore beginning a new chapter: The Doctor ordered: give up coffee, lose 25 pounds, reduce stress, exercise 3 times a week and put some plastic nutz hanging in the back of my car (just to show I still have some) in matching color.
3rd - After receiving an unexpected phone call I have now formally accepted being a volunteer for the Obama Campaign (I want a free t-shirt, so there)
8th - Bull of Brougham's 3rd Anniversary (I still don't get why you keep reading this shit, but all of the staff here at Bull of Brougham appreciates it, and yes, we know who you are)
16th - Mexico's Independence Viva Mexico. Now we just need to open a huge factory down there and another one here to produce a vulgar ammount of barbie dolls to cover the entire planet and reach world dominance. Si Se Puede - Yes We Can.
Come to me
walk barefoot on the marble and hardwood floor
through the living room
come crawling on my bed
in circles
til you find the perfect spot
Don't sing
purr
look at me like a dying bird
on the sidewalk
during rush hour
Look at me
like a caged tiger
ready to pounce
like a hungry dog
ready to bite
and look at nothing else
Look at me
on this cloud
and make love to me
Forget who they think we are
and melt with me
my holy devil
my poisoned angel
my handcuffed mermaid
my little bird
Come with me
engage in war
let our lips and hands battle
and kill your taboo
swing on the canoe of my arms
make me your tattoo
Let me be your thirst
your jail
your sentence
let me be your freedom
your trap
let me fill you up
Undress before me
lay naked on the floor
take my hand and guide me
just like before
let me be your master
your beast
your brown bull
let me drink from your well
show me, close my eyes
I'll given you my heaven
if you take me to your hell...
Tonight, more Americans are out of work and more are working harder for less. More of you have lost your homes and even more are watching your home values plummet. More of you have cars you can't afford to drive, credit card bills you can't afford to pay, and tuition that's beyond your reach.
These challenges are not all of government's making. But the failure to respond is a direct result of a broken politics in Washington and the failed policies of George W. Bush.
America, we are better than these last eight years. We are a better country than this.
This country is more decent than one where a woman in Ohio, on the brink of retirement, finds herself one illness away from disaster after a lifetime of hard work.
This country is more generous than one where a man in Indiana has to pack up the equipment he's worked on for twenty years and watch it shipped off to China, and then chokes up as he explains how he felt like a failure when he went home to tell his family the news.
We are more compassionate than a government that lets veterans sleep on our streets and families slide into poverty; that sits on its hands while a major American city drowns before our eyes.
Barack Obama - Excerpt of The Acceptance Speech - 08-28-08
"If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich."
- John F. Kennedy
What really matters?
Your money?
or the money you inherit, borrow or steal?
it's not mine
so it doesn't matter
if that is all that matters to you
then you don't matter to me
I've learned the value of the round table
Your height?
hardly, for not just the most successful
have been of average height
but also the most atrocious
for true height is not measure
it is acknowledged.
Your weight?
your weight you carry
some carry it better than others
but most of the time it is genes
health is of bigger concern
Your sexual orientation?
that's a choice
and sometimes I wonder why we have to choose
it is, after all, no ones business
and at this moment my heterosexuality makes me question
if it is the cause of my insanity
then again I didn't chose to like women
I just do
Your education
as long as it is to help others
and not to hide your insecurity
by belittling others with articulate words
Your religion
I hate it
whichever one it is
but I forgive you
cause it won't save you
as far as I'm concerned you can keep knocking on doors
praying, prying, begging, preaching, judging and killing
for I have many Gods
one is a fiery animal
and it's coming for you
until you stop playing God
or pretending to know what God wants
There's no time to dwell in the past
yesterday no longer exists
and there's no point in worrying about the future
and it's uncertainties
and our insecurities bathing tomorrows
there's only time for right now
and nothing more
breathe and live right now
this minute
completely aware
or you'll miss out
your God, he'll wait
Me?
right now I want milk and honey
"- come here, pussycat"
I'm safe
in my circle of fire
I'm safe
in the darkness
away from mirrors
televisions and telephones
I'm alive
and my feet are burning
I'm running
barely touching the ground
I think I'm a cheetah
running in freedom
breathing in
breathing out
sailing through this labyrinth of dreams
leaving your maze of nightmares behind
I call the fire and the water
and Ogum and Iemanja
I gather all my Gods and Goddesses
take a strand of your hair
and cut a picture in half
light a candle
and dream in prayer
and burn copal
and breathe
and let go
with my necklace and charm
in a circle of fire
I'm alive
I'm protected
and with a bleeding chicken
I'm proclaiming a spell
There's no better shield than truth
and no better spear than words
The past is to mourn
the future is for you to repent
I'm protected
I'm alive
and the fire is burning
and I'm burning the yesterdays
the hours and moments and the seconds
the mementos and memories
in this cauldron of blame
I'm burning
I'm running
through the forest of dreams
I'm here
I'm sailing through this labyrinth
and yes, I'm tempted
and I trip and fall
and sin and lie
and use and borrow
and cheat and fight
and I'm protected
today and tomorrow
and tomorrow is today
and today I hide regret and truth
under this dark cloth
and all transparency is beginning to fade
I'm burning
I'm smoke
you can't see me
I'm your dreams
I'm putting things in different places
I'm changing stars
I'm erasing your path
I'm pushing this wheelbarrow of guilt
and pain
I'm swimming to fly
I'm hiding your rainbow
and I'm twisting your luck
bitter taste
rust in water
I am the poison
the snake
the ruin
the dirty water of your present
a black bird of sorrow
I'm your nightmare come true
and in your headaches
I'm alive
I'm protected
in a circle of fire
(patiently, we await)
Cuernavca, Mexico Circa 1982
Lunchbox and backpack in hand, I'm on the school bus on my way to school.
I wonder if my friends will mind the fact that her pictures are so heavily retouched, you know? with that thick, white cloudy airbrush gloom.
Then again, it's Morgan Fairchild on the center cover of this 1982 Penthouse issue (which I borrowed from my dad's collection) and you can see herrrr in full ... "errrrr..."
...."It Isn't Mine..... I Swear, it isn't mine..."
" -expelled? so I get to go home????"
Fine, fine!!! you sleazy Mexican Hitlerites. Go right ahead, ban me from your slave and mentally distorted education, idiots...
No, I couldn't have said that.
...but I thought about it.
So there I go, in the back seat of my Mom's car, wondering if Morgan will forgive me for leaving her behind at the Principal's office (ironic). They wouldn't give it back and my Mother didn't seem very ..supportive of the idea, to say the least.
No more pr0n, and I'm a sad little boy.
My records, the naky poster Freddy Mercury gave me and my bike are all that's left in my elementary universe.
WHAT??? New School???
but I thought I didn't have to...
Fine, I'm sure my new Kiss album will make me look cool. It's the "Dressed to Kill" Long Play, Gene is on the cover wearing a sharp, oxford grey suit and he's scratching his nuts in style, nice...
What? I'm expelled? Again?
You Country Music listening weirdos, there's nothing wrong with Kiss... and it's just the cover of the...
It's ok Mom, really, they hated Mark Twain, bad school.
New School? this one is nice... some of the girls are blonde... private? and I'm going to learn how to speak English? this is wonderful, I love you Mommy, now I will be able to read who's going to be Pet of the Year...
...and the Patriot Act
- Under an Angel with wings wide open -
I feel my finger's twitching...
and I can feel cold air on my nostrils...
I open my eyes in stupid ecstatic wonder
and I take a mouthful of air
almost choking
like a baby
as if I had just been born
Where am I?
all I see is a white walled cube
What is this place?
almost floating on soft white sheets
surrounded by strange looking computers, tubes
and little flashing lights
dancing to the beat of my heart
I'm alive?
How did I get here?
I should have died in a Nile of blood....
but apparently I didn't
not yet
The Gypsy spell and the Aztec heart
the Mexican-Teutonic blood prevailed
and I'm still here.
But now it's different
there's hope
and I feel much better
stronger
and I'm getting up on my feet again
I can walk
but wait...
I feel like I can fly
and see through walls
why am I suddenly all dressed in black?
and what happened to the mirror?
for my reflection is no more
and I feel thirsty, very thirsty
As I take my first steps I trip and fall
I'm still weak
face down on the cold linoleum
there's a woman under my bed
it's a nurse
her blond hair in a ponytail
her round ass silhouettes her white dress
perfectly like her thighs
she's pale, she's dead
now I realize it was her I tripped on
but why?
and what are those tow red marks on her neck?
I'm thirsty
very thirsty...
Today I woke up early
before everybody else
just like my horoscope said.
The coffee maker brew at 5am
right on the dot.
My camo pants and shirt are on the bed
the gun I bought at the pawn shop is loaded
and the tazer is fully charged
last night I got the bugger primed.
I set my alarm clock for this
and it's right on time
I have quite the day ahead of me
but first I want to catch a bird
that white morning dove
immaculate heaven fallen angel
I'm about to surprise her on the window sill
there she is
and I'm crouching silently
Shhhhh!!! I'm now behind her
slowly....
grab her suddenly and let her fight
without getting away
then hold her and caress her
kiss her little white head
make a nest for her in my arms...
Then tear her wings apart with my bare hands
throw her in the burning oven
together with a Bible and the rest of my bills
with a fifth of jack and the instructions to life
setting the fucking place on fire
while I chew on a box full of full metal jackets
and red hot Chipotle peppers
feed the fire
spitting out flaming tequila bursts from my nose
I want to tackle the fridge to the ground
and split the bathtub with an axe
I want to kick your puppie's milk bowl
and shoot grandma's oxygen tank with a sawed off shotgun
then tango with her carcass
I want to punch a math teacher on the face
rob a bank
fight a cop
hire an expensive Asian prostitute
fuck her in the alley
drink a bottle of Chivas
smoke a cigar
drive a limo at 100 mph
on 405
crash it against a Costco gas station
stab myself in the leg
play football with a turtle
throw a bench on the lake
speed on a bike across the bridge
jump from a plane
with a useless parachute
try heroin
vote for McCain
throw lobsters out the window
kiss you and bite your tongue out
kick the tube with my steel toe boots
run, run as fast as I can
run people over with a garbage truck
jump from a building and show you how to fly
grab a high voltage cable, just for the high
play Led Zeppelin on the old turntable
and sit naked on the dirty bathroom floor
to slash my veins and see the snowflakes falling slowly
on the early winter of this miserable life.
VIDEOBLOG
A few months ago I hurt my back and a never ending quest for well being began its course. As usual I had to play the beaner card in order to get am MRI at Virginia-Mason, since their constant denial in providing health care has become somewhat routine. I eventually landed at the spine clinic at their hospital, in downtown Seattle where I was seen by some Dr named Antoine. Seriously, who would name their kid Antoine? I mean, if a fortune teller told me he would become a Musketeer or a Broadway Ave Drag, then maybe. Anyway, he asked me 3 questions and then kept billing me, over and over again, even after my insurance covered the bill (not even that do they know how to do). So I ended up going to Physical Therapy at a small place inside a gym inside a downtown building. Apparently my L4 is in bad shape and therefore I go once a week.
I feel much better now. They have me roll and turn and slide over these huge red, green and blue plastic balls like an illegal immigrant contortionist trying to sell a weight loss potion at the local county fair, this behind window panes, like a Panda bear. So now I have a quorum and on Sundays they even throw peanuts at me. I just can't get used to seeing my butt rolling on a huge blue ball in closed circuit.
Playa Paraiso, Guerrero. Mexico circa 1997.
Beyond the fog I could see the palm trees, some still standing, many fallen, and others cracked down the middle, as if thunderbolt stricken. The sand (which I remember being of a tan shade) had this grey corpse shade, and none of the fishermen's shacks were standing.
Beyond eerie, this sunny coastal pueblo was now fully dressed in gray, as if mourning the wake.
A cold breeze was blowing softly, as if lamenting the heavy day. Everything hidden under a thick fog, covering it all, from mountain to shore.
The river was silent, no sound other than the outboard engine, roaring with an alcoholic's cough, the water splashing on my windbreaker, and the waves hitting the hull. It was almost like a Hollywood Vietnam War movie, it was almost as if an incendiary bomb had been dropped, without the corpses, for there was no one else in sight.
My friend Wilson and I had just arrived after a night long bus ride from Cuernavaca. He was a tall, big dude from Central America, think Popeye's "Brutus", but with a twisted sense of humor which remains unmatched. There we were, on this small fishing boat, traveling through the river, as there's no other way to reach Playa Paraiso, or El Dorado.
The fisherman told us a cyclone had hit on the previous weekend, and everyone had fled, ...except for some "crazy hippies" which had arrived just a couple of days ago.
I kept staring at the scenery, waiting to see Rambo running through the dense tropical jungle, or maybe a bright red flare, a smoke bomb, flying up in the air, or something out of a movie, because this was an unbelievable scene.
I lit up a cigarette and remembered just how beautiful this place used to be....
As we began approaching the sand bank, we saw a campfire and a few people sitting around it.
- Those are the only people here, crazy cabrones" said the fisherman. They stood up suddenly, and began jumping up and down, waving their hands, yelling out our names "- Pablooo... Wilsooon" desperately.
Sure enough, that was my friend Alfredo, his brother and a couple of brave ladies.
Wilson and I set up our tents, joined them by the fire, and since there were rumors of a group of girls camping nearby we decided to stay.
The fishermen shacks were all on the ground, the sand was plagued with jagged wooden stakes, flotsam and jetsam on the river and on the lake, the waves in the ocean raised like giants, collapsing in thundering roar, and the fog was ever present, cloudy all day, only interrupted by the eventual drizzle.
...But we found the girls, I had a few cartons of cigs, Alfredo and the other friends were there, and someone bought a Wonder Brad bag full of pot, and a bottle of Mezcal.
Didn't take long for the fisherman to bring his wife and daughters, they set up an improvised kitchen, and now we also had a 3 item menu, which they cooked for us three times a day, so we stayed (and I can't believe it, because it was a shit show, with sand and rain)
I eventually moved into someone else's tent, and some chick moved in with Wilson in his tent, and we were all happily paired up, having irresponsible fun in this tropical paradise-turned disaster zone, but the dreadful light would wait about week or so, before revealing herself and her somber news...
Alfredo played the guitar, we sat and sang around the fire, we had tents, hammocks, cold beer and pop, and eventually some of the locals returned and began rebuilding their shacks (here there are no pipes, there's no power and it's just...rough).
We moved the tents to one single area (for safety), but then, one night, while we were all sitting around the fire, chatting, drinking... we suddenly saw this bright light beam sweeping the beach.
This light came from a pick up truck, parked across the river. Then we heard the megaphone as it began delivering a short, direct message: "A cyclone will hit us in about 3 hours, there are buses on their way to evacuate everyone, start crossing the river, NOW! women and children first".
And so the fishermen, their families, and a couple of lost campers began to leave ... and we just sat there.
We were too drunk or stoned to realize what was happening... and then we decided to discuss the issue at hand, and that is when everything went south.
See, whenever you have a hurricane, tsunami, earthquake or fire situation, you don't talk about it, you get the fuck out of there. Pronto! (the fat is on the fire).
But we didn't ...we just kept talking about whether staying to face the hurricane was a valid moral principle, or not, and a consensus could not be reached.
I had been following the debacle quietly, and quite honestly laughing at the stupid dilemma we had gotten ourselves into. Then, at some point they all became quiet, looked at each other, and that's when Wilson turned to me, and asked the unquestionable question:
"Pablo, what do you think?" (yup, bad idea)
" - I think there is nothing to discuss" I said
and then stood up, and raised a burning bundle of sticks (as if portraying the Statue of Liberty) and proclaimed solemnly
"- it is our holy duty to stay and defend this place that we have claimed as ours for so many years. No puny storm can relieve such honorable struggle. Prepare your hearts, your souls and your tents, wrap the pot in Ziploc bags and let's unite, for the night lays before us, the conquest of Playa Paraiso will be ours"
(I was kidding, of course ...but they didn't know this).
The fishermen came and told us we were nuts and by the time we finally sat down to retake the issue all the locals had left... and we were left behind, stuck, tying up the tents in clusters and digging ditches in the sand, with no way out of this hell.
Suddenly everyone began staring at me (something weird happens to people when they're not high anymore...they get...serious about shit, you know?).
"I was kidding" I said, and before they burnt me at the stake (like a Salem witch) I convinced them that "we would be just fine" (of course, I didn't know this).
So we made an even bigger fire, and rolled an even bigger blunt, and while the night was windy and rainy, and the ocean's waves crushed on the beach with thunderous anger... we made it.
The cyclone didn't hit until the next evening... and we were gone.
Just a rock
lonely island in the thunderstorm
ray of light for the sailor adrift
always there
storm after storm
wave after wave
I wave from the shore
can you see me?
can you hear me whisper?
would you stop and swim ashore?
I need a beacon
I'm lost
and I'm drowning in my little storm
I guess I could use a lighthouse
just about now
But they've turned you off
blew your candle
dimmed your light
and what do they know?
nothing
I sit and ponder
on my old man and wind and shores
on life and sailboats and whores
and on how time escapes from clenched fists
and on how this world for sailors
is commanded by pirates
who only seek to sink ships
decommission lighthouses
and drown our dreams
I wake up and find myself floating
in a bed of fleurs-de-lis
and I realize the beach is a muse
and waking up to see her
is like a sunbeam of peace and lavender
kiss of laudanum
as I close my eyes and sleep
and float away with the tide
(click here to see more pics from this trip to Cannon Beach)
I feel the breeze on my hair
and I turn my face to see the curtains
white thin veils, dancing on this 5 star suite.
Your tan body is still on top of me
my hands are glued to your hips
and you've covered me in honey dew again
as your nails have slowly carved your name on my forearms.
Impertinent sunbeams find their way to the bedroom
I look at you and I see the light of the day
reflected in your turquoise eyes
locked with mine.
I see your face and I can't believe my eyes
and I see my life depends on your high cheeks
on your full lips, half open
and on your hidden, curare spiked tongue.
Indeed, I'm a slave of the soft peach like cheeks
and of that perfect nose of yours
a nose to make Renoir blush.
Your hair falling on your shoulders like chestnut Niagaras
and on your plump grapefruit breasts
Your perfect pearled smile and your strong thorax
and that perfectly round ass of yours
(to which my hands belong)
are everything I could ever want.
I'm completely ensnared
daydreaming in the rhythmic hammock love you make
as my mind spins in this carousel inside you.
- "Good morning" you say
like a songbird tune, with Latin accents
and hypnotic tone.
I look outside
at the World
and I fall in love again
there is a God, for only he could have painted
this Renoiresque beach
and there is a Devil, and she's sleeping with me
and she knows me by name.
Unforgotten, you remain
cause when I stare at a daisy I think of your sex
diamond veils floating on the early ripples
palm trees making a breeze with their long, green skirts
the Sun bathing your face with its splendor
lighting one more day in paradise
a day that began with the morning
the morning of your eyes.
What are words if not petals and thorns that dress my soul?
