i remember being young in times of war
being old today is still turmoil
trapped between the edge of ancientness and gigabytes
marching down any street of l.a.
i imagine what might have happened to you
Chiapas was a foggy land and in the mouths
of studious warriors
seventh and broadway was too
being here in this downtown forest of wires
the hunger in the soul after 85,000 days of fasting is
breast fed at Clifton’s nook
carousels of irony in theater views
lobbies full of revoltless revolution
my nome de guerre you ask?
i have not one by incidental quiet rage
donde esta usted?
i saw your mirror on a caricature tagged up wall
alla por la sunset
is a $3.50 tropical drink at grand central bars
delegado will i find you at the corner?
will i find you in a heart?
as i tread upon my gum stained pavements