The wind cried jasmine and “east,”
Past the muddied waters
Grande
And mass graves tortured
Tamaulipas;
Past the rasps, taunts, tortures,
And gasps bereaved,
So much so and so could I.

Set and to sail,
I could feel the tumbleweed
Sting my toes, with each and every
Bitter step; One more sojourn
And seeking the earliest unknown,
A celestial sort of gallant,
Faceless and opposed,
The awkward, “welcome home.”

Come earlier, come Mexico,
She’d scarred my stomach
With love, a newer sort of sear,
Notarized the scar I still carry
When I drown at five past four
With the deafening scent of
Mescal and torpor
Atop my tongue.

It’s upon hot nights,
Like this very one, that
I imagine the Melons of Reynosa,
Succulent, a summer night, with
Stars stained sorrow, strayed me,
Stayed you, and fled I did,
Taken to bamboo, and forever’d,
The newest resident, “away.”

The landlady pounds, one door left,
And my “Momma’s” chopping chives in the kitchen;
So I wince when
My black hat’s conquered wrought wool.

Right, and right out the window, the workers break,
And my “Uncle’s” feet crack, crack come the chemical grass;
So I concentrate when
My chopsticks carve pork.

“Up,” cries the baby, starved are the mice,
And my “sister” bids farewell to her soldier;
So I grasp when
My feet twitch to understand the cold, cold concrete.

Diesel cooks, so down goes the neighbor,
And the “Missus” smiles with our son atop lap;
So I admit when
I try to smile, I really do.

Herein lies the endurance, the rice paddies ancient,
And we’d all bliss ignorant, come the table we surround;
So I reconcile when
Again, I try to smile, I really do.

He bounced atop my stomach to
Drums
Reverberated concrete chasms.

He beamed a’brilliant with each and
Every
SMASHED! Cymbal, the thunder!

He’d only giggle ‘morrow
Now;
So passed the tears of procession.

I’d hold him tightly, he’d warm, he’d
Hug,
And know no bereavement today.

With eyes wandering left, darting
Right,
Both body and beloved pass by.

I envy him. I worship him, I was
Him
The day before I’d ever know death.

I spot a drone today;
No bombs,
But with plenty o’ potential –
A will to malice,
To malcontent, to ******.

I seek it south
And at its zenith,
Above dissent,
And the bastion that’d never know
Better, from worse.

So too, I spy it over the sands
And over cave,
Over Manhattan, over perdition,
And over “god,” over greed,
Over "great," and *******
Guaranteed;

A glistening, wrought silver teething,
“Dead,” come one wrong,
Word, or whatnot,
Anything antagonist “corporate,”
Our contradictory content,
Blessed, this,
“Complacency,” – indiscriminate.

Unbeknownst and melancholy-ridden,
The bombs have dropped,
And for some time now,
A sooner to be eternity
Whilst we’ve managed nothing but
The simplest of slumber;

We’re lucid but one second
And sheep more so the years.
The flock afar-critical,
As abstained become the hours,
The minutes, until, “then,”
Atop, “when,”
Whilst we learn again to breathe,
Maybe even dream,
And relieve the nooses continually
Knotted by others –

It’s an imaginary rebellion. Sure.
And I’m sure you’d agree;
Yet still, I soak a nightmare’s sweat
Whilst we gladly assume our
Peasant’s role
And as long as we do,
“They’ll,” gladly assume their
Thrones.

One, of the two chairs, thrones under
Chinese twilight’s a’swirl and vacuous
come my evening’s stroll. Where once
two men would tinker, tea, and tease
atop a’board of chess, only one remains,
and that one would ‘ever cry. Tears that
only grey’d make, fears that only age
could stake, and a pecking order with
number nigh. I knew, come wail and so
entered the fireworks, flowers atop
promenades near, that the last game of
chess was just the other night. The last
cup of tea was just the other night, and
the one left behind thought about the
“night,” as we all do. When’s mine a
coming? When’s mine a’coming? Just
when is my night a’coming? So that I
may see you again, dear friend, let me
see you again.

It’s “then” that I realize,
When my friends leave,
That half of me dies,
Not at the door,
But beyond the locks,
And delirious drives
Home.

Come the other half –
The side
That revels in the quiet;
It slowly bites my tongue,
After sleep,
When I slip outta bed,
Crazed from dreams,
And even further by work;
Let me reside, the floor.

There’s no respite, no hour,
I’m annoyed even by
My stubble,
And the duty to
Shave –
Name me “lazy?”
Or labeled the animal?

I open the shades –
The forecast calls for rain.
I close the shades –
It’d ‘ever be night.

And after I’ve chased them out,
Something still and falls.
It’s not water, but rather,
Silent apologies that drip
And drizzle
From the sky and
Corners of my mouth.

They’re the “wants” left unheard,
In the form of unanswered
Voicemails, texts,
Email intentionally marked “spam,”
And pebbles echoed window,
Attempts “disguised” behind
Melody and
Resonant retribution.

I’ve always known how to
Push,
And now,
More importantly,
When to pull back.
If only I could
Drag
Myself from bed,
As this feeling’s “today,”
And it may not be there
Tomorrow.