Where will we end up? Persistent hum
of tires is our story, and eventually
the color of each signpost has its meaning.
Before we’d been outside
the islands of our shitty neighborhoods,
we weren’t angry. Only when the sun
beat down we dripped with sweat, revealed tanned chests
in the backyard, and played the radio.
How often I have played the part of this poor fish
skewered by a barbed hook it mistook
for something benign
As children, our cups
were never full; we learned
to build our own thrones out of sticks and
mud from underneath the bent
An eagle seeks his nest after lifting up from the land with a groundhog having already fled from its body.
The berries remembered, though.
And, how far away from them we had
to go to not live the captive life, our
mere existence a sin.
I don't go often to the church in the village.
The tall, leaded-glass windows
seem as cold as
the stone spire above.
We taste transparent flames, the spices and fruits for
which we have no names. Savor the bitterness of
ausencia while we sever wrists.