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Showing posts from March 17, 2017

The Martyrdom

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The Martyrdom One hundred and thirty-six mirrors whirled around him like a hurricane, the reflection of his heart on The Hand that shapes existence. Mountains gathered around a line of blood. Radioactive chain reaction dripped from his open wounds, and I despaired. He left me dressed in shades of purple, aflame, lowered back into my coffin.

The Smell of Sulfur

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The Smell of Sulfur The odor of sulfur is as strong as the company brought to the podium of Titans. Gaia and Ouranos spit angry epithets at each other in the armory on Boulevard where the effigy hides bottles of gin. On television, the rib-tickling, righteous Titan gets an opportunity to explain the notion of drowning in the desert to the nation recently targeted by white supremacist. The program furthers The Graven image’s intent to build a wall.  Is it to keep some out, or trap everyone in? Women tip-toeing north through the desert leave an uncomfortable trail of blood too long to ignore, rivers of pearls buried under the roots of ancient saguaros on Cristero soil. Words pronounced by the Shebang Smoking Idol don't mean a thing to thirty million butterflies. They were there first.

Postcards

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Postcards Willie, when Eloy showed me the wedding rings I broke out in tears. I was so innocent, didn’t even know why I followed you to Bolivia. Yo fui la más callada de todas las que hicieron el viaje hasta tu Puerto. 2. Write me a poem that will bring me back to life, papi. Be my distraction, or I am going to find a tall, blue eyed angel with baker hands and lips like James Dean. A dormir se van ahora mis lagrimas por donde tu cruzaste mi verso. 3. Negro, I’ve murdered myself so many times the effort is starting to hurt. Someone stole my poetry. They wanted to teach me to write on paper. As if everything I do isn’t already written in blood. I begged mama to help me die, but she refused, had to slash my own wrist. Todos los ojos del viento ya me lloraron por muerta. 4. Do you think ghosts can ask for asylum in Cuba? Willie, take my clothes off. Look at my scars without crying and tell me I’m beautiful. Don’t li