silence stares from the insides
of the old pile of sticks
on some mornings there’s the smell
of Cuban coffee and always
the stench of dying kidneys
on the streets
we shiver and sweat together
only appropriate credentials
get to play the martyrs
Desi yells at Lucy
at the exact moment the gates of hell
have broken loose
we all just hapless renegades
begging for a push
and even though it’s hard to walk
within our modern tomb
we postpone the end of life
one alveoli at a time
clouds drift free and wild
the horizons step aside
my wide eyes follow
to forget my line
across the street the crowd
opposite my thoughts crowded
in my brick building mind
there are willow trees
lining the dirt paths
that used to be dustless
still the little brick corners
prick up catching my heels
from the corner of my dry right eye
i catch Fante in a grey suit
head bowed writing on a pad
golf pencil a story about a girl
straight ahead the afternoon
pierced in the heart by pigeons
scared into the sky
by wailing fire trucks
and my face dead on
the Mexican artisanal mirror
my lips red my words hushed
Susana dust flows
into the streets that we roam
smog canopy helps
rancid on bluetooth
driving alone on the 10
number crunching day
she stares back
bold strong ferocious
history upon history
of countless hearts
whispers in brick
yearnings in mortar
cracks in silence
to have known
souls long ago
proper in poverty
hidden behind threat
fear of starvation
ghosts in abundance
moonlight is scarce
mural by LAPIZT♡LA
they the prophets write
words chilling to think all through
numb symbols of prole
could it be they be
saviours with synthetic inks
prayers that result
tragedy smiling
far out into the clouds go
fumes of redemption
season of promise
idols showing their true forms
flowers in the eyes
mother of pearl moon
tonight the uncertainty
oozes out surely
words less spoken 