you’ve earned the right to sleep

after the end of battle

the mountains and the breeze

of change that do not fluctuate

all was traded some left to the side

the city of angels

is where you now reside

the dream of any freedom

that never was fulfilled

stolen from you your soul and your kʼuhul ajaw. past

Guajoyo in blood, Mozote in fire, Junquillo the same

sidewalk pillows and bottles as slaves

your problems have grown up

the leaving of stains in memories of women

of lies in the jungles with snippets of Monroe

the linens wasted pulp

shared by the poets and the popes

of a world so far away from you

wasting away in the alley of industrialized Golgotha

burlington avenue retirement home