American Scream

Never once did I believe in the American dream
For long I’ve heard the American scream
From even before my conception
From imagery of naked children fleeing from their burning village eviction
To this modern day
Of brown children torn and locked away

Oh, say, can’t you see?
This land is marred with misery
From the red blood of native genocide
With their land now bled white
To the blue, the tunes of a people shipped across the sea
Then held in bondage and slavery

Burn

Should we burn at both ends
Or like roman candles
Burn that midnight oil
Or burn daylight
Should we burn bridges when our ears are burning
Should we burn it in
Or burn with it
Should we burn the ones who’ve burned us at the stake
Or just burn them in effigy
Should we burn with a low blue flame when we’ve burned our fingers
Should we burn holes into our pockets for the ones we’re burning for
Should we keep that home fire burning
Or burn it down
Should we burn away until we’ve burned out

Paddy's

It was just passed midnight
I took a shot of cognac and grab my passport and money clip
I went down to Paddy's Irish Pub
I used to frequent it somewhat
It has since seen a lot of renovations
Most notably the newly added patio
I showed the door guy my passport and got in
The place was packed with youngins
College kids from the local college WNEU
Formerly known as WNEC
The kids, the boys, were all dressed in the same clothes
And baseball caps
They all smelled the same as well
I got to the bar and waited

The Man with the Horse

“F.ck!” 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