Sunday, December 16, 2007

Caribbean Seafront

Paseo Caribe

There’s a coiled tree all fire up

in my head and pieces

of concrete on my arms.

I am hurting. Creatures

are lost in the blood dripping

from the lips of echoes

dancing with polished swords.

Who poisons our homeland,

steals its shores, and clobbers

our heads? Father, who weeps

in this city?

1 comment:

  1. As always, superb poetry. Thanks.


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