and I wish to cover all territory for once—hospital beds, chinaware, bed linen, your bland skin
Tortillas clap against floured palms, steaming bowls of avena, frijoles black as the rumbling sky, arroz con pollo simmers. Against the kitchen
I, tongue of snakes. Cut up, dipped in powdered sugar, scattered to the ants in the deepest corner of Mt. Nebo as an insult, bind my ghost to the mountain.
I remember that first time: the empty auditorium, her voice, the dark all around us, her mouth reaching into mine. She was Freddy’s foxy older sister, and I didn’t know why she wanted to kiss me. She had already finished high school and probably shouldn’t have been walking the halls, but she always called me her friend. So one Monday after gym,
I used to think that if I loved hard enough and long enough passion would always win out
Watts bleeds dripping from carcasses of dreams: Where despair is old people sitting on torn patio sofas with empty eyes and children running down alleys with big sticks.
We did not live in tepees. We did not braid our hair. We did not fringe our shirts. We did not wear war bonnets. We did not chase the buffalo. We did not carry shields. We were never Plains Indians. We tried to ride, but we kept falling off of our dogs.
tonight's lurid sunset's a cocktail of too many boozes she'd like to switch it off via remote control but there's no antidote for celestial events