The Man with the Horse

“!” he yelled in his head. With the sudden reacquisition of visual acuity, he was stirred and riled by the cracks of his broken phone screen that he'd been blankly staring at for some lapse of time, of which he cannot recall how long it’d been on account of how he'd broken his brain some time ago. This, triggered by the anagogical correlation between broken screens and broken brains, had sent him down a black but not bleak vortex of existential inquiries.

Mesquite Thorns

Under the thorns of a mesquite tree I dreamt of you again last night
But as always in my dreams
Your face was not the same
We were at the station
You were trying to get to your terminal
You were leaving me
And I was trying to stop you
As if I'd never confessed my love
I wanted to tell you
And your eyes wanted me to say it
You were beautiful
But for a moment when I grabbed you by the arm and you turned around
You had the most heinous face that I'd ever seen
I couldn't bring myself to saying it

Los Perros

As often as I would arrive at the outskirt of a town in the hours just after sunset, I'd pull into a Pemex to use their facility and work on a can of beans while I scope out a suitable spot for the night on the GPS or message a potential host. Just as often, I am followed by a stray dog. I'd share with them my beans and whatnot. One time I fed a mother dog and her pups. The security guard came over and shooed them away, nudging the pups with his boots. Then he shooed me away. He was rather gentle with his words and boots, and so I didn't mind it much.

The Warm Insides of a Drunk

It must had been in the mid 30s; I saw my breath rising under the rickety street lamp, but I didn't feel the slightest bit of chill on account of all the booze coursing through my veins. I looked back at the bar. A moment ago it was bright and lively. Now it was dark and dead. Henry, the bartender, was never very nice. He would never let me sleep inside the bar, no matter how drunk I was or how horridly cold it was outside - probably afraid I would wake up in the middle of the night and help myself.

Cultured Hum(an)

With the humming of cool refrigerant pumping
Coursing through cold copper hardlines
Indifferent and, as if frozen in time
The cultured human
Of some stood in deli aisles
Eyes affixed on cultured ham
As glistening drool hung like freezer icicles
Staring back are the heads of lamb
With hearts as pulseless and cold as those in cellophane
And ears deaf to their cries of pain
Afflicting indescribable horrors, yet they called it “humane”
Onward to the aisle of bottled lactation
Where separated are the curds and whey

Untitled - 4/2017

Mother, I love you
But since I was a child
You've painted me the color of your enemy

Father, I wish you'd taught me more
But all I know of you is pieces and war

How can I know love
When all I've ever tasted is vinegar and blood

Oh this loveless life
Always in flight
Drifting from one island to another
Contemptuous of self
Deserving of no other

Broken People

Love each other
Love in the now
Mend your hearts like Kintsugi
The Japanese art of repairing pottery with precious metals
Your past is history
Cherish it
But leave it where it be
Let it go
And let new love grow in its place
Grow with it
Make it more memorable than that of your past
Dwarf it with brilliance
You can't have a future
If you're dwelling in the past
So live in the now
Love in the now
And you will be wholesome again
If not more so

Desert Flower

desert flower
thy beauty moistens parched lips
though I'd sever ties with heaven to drink thy nectar
I do not wish to pluck thee
but only to enjoy thy sweet scent a breath at a time
and hope that a fruitbat or desert moth would chance upon thee
so to spring ever more beauty