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Nov 2018
Before smoking a cigarette with you,
we walk outside to your porch

we are in an old town,
I thank you for your respect and hospitality

“I was just in trouble”

I say, thinking of how I sat in the Dean’s office the other day.

I think, meta-magically,
“wow, a human”

with hands spread out.
coins in hand.

Infinity is a toy store,

or a hot dog,

a walk with no complaints,

As we stroll leaving behind

the worries of today and yesterday.

As I
come
down,

Violence & crime,

So, I build us a house in San Francisco,
I decide it’s best either in the suburbs or
in a less affluent side of town,

Because it’s dangerous to be a healer and a thief

To be a model who looks in the mirror several times a day,

Or, a world-class athlete who trains alone.

My identity is selected
            by my interaction
with ecstasy, & I apply it
by either incorporating it or resisting
                                                     it.

& please, I just want to be beautiful
& please, I just want to be beautiful
& please, let me have the toy
& to be loved
                       to be held tight
                         & for you to not
                                  let go.

I want the beach in Galveston to stretch more than
27 miles. The sand on West Bay to have diamonds. To pick them up.
For Trinity river to flow into the Gulf of Mexico.

For the winds that come from hurricanes to
create a tremendous party for us, so we can slowly
slide down a slide at a children’s
                     museum.

The part of the Gulf of Mexico that interests me
the most is that it is bordered by the east
coast of Mexico, Florida, Alabama, Mississippi,
Louisiana, and Texas.

& they’re off, as I go to work & play dress up,
because time is a line, probably, we should begin again,
& meditate, & I’m sorry I didn’t support you, your
music deserves a louder clap than mine.

And suddenly,
the saddest thing occurred today
I was wearing khakis shorts
and a Bahama button down
and I was picking up my
kids from the airport. Just
then, I realized, I’m a father.
David Zavala
Written by
David Zavala  30/M/San Antonio
(30/M/San Antonio)   
392
 
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