May 2018

chapter viii



Tired    I walk toward everything except fear

over seaweed-covered rocks

I think that someday some new women

will be allowed to see each other happy

happy more than usual

I looked in all the other open rooms of my heart

A vague fear obscured...

Apá, dying is boring. To pass las horas,
I carve
our last name
all over my body.
I try to recall the taste of  Pablo’s sweat.
Whiskey, no.
Wet dirt, sí.
I stuff  English
into my mouth, spit out chingaderas.
Have it your way.
Home of the Whopper.
Run
for the border....

What you need will come to you at the right time says the tarot card I overturned at my friend Nathalie’s house one evening. I was wondering if she said something worth hearing, What? I’m looking at her face, trying...