Stumbling through the streets of Mexico
Savio
At the ripe age of 20
Life
Dancing nudely in front of his jewel eyes
It is 3am
and the latino barking k-9's are loud
loud and beautiful
like thinking you were dead
but you are woken by a train
and you touch the bridge of your nose
you touch the cheekbones
beneath your face
and you sigh in relief
that you are not dead:
The leaves are green
The grass too
Poison Ivy and Dandelions
Strawberries

Savio
Stumbling through Mexico
Wearing an old ***** flannel
a few buttons missing
Examining the streets
for cigarette butts
To unravel
To squeeze the brown tobacco
into his palm
for later
when he has the chance
the consciousness to buy rolling papers

Savio
bottle of cheap whiskey in his back pocket
holding an imaginary rifle
firing at the pigeons
at Cadillacs
that care freed on by

He had been at a bar
He was born in a Hospital
He liked to drink on top of buildings
He has a father who is dead

Savio
Stopping at a church that smelled of coffee
Music played
It was soft
Sad
Like a woman kissing you good-bye
Yet you try to recall the feeling of her lips
and cannot
He leaned his dark curly hair against the bricks that vibrated smoothly
from the violins
from the piano that over took the room
That washed away the hardwood floor
That tapped Death on the shoulder
That stopped the rain
That made you stand still
to make sure
you are not dead
And the Violin wakes you up
and it is Fall
Now Winter
Now you are with your mother
Now you are
Old
and you look around and notice that
The music has stopped playing
and the Trees
look a little wet
look a little
smaller
than they used to be

Savio
Woke up to his whiskey bottle shattering underneath him
Saw the Sun
Saw that the Church was empty
Saw that the door was open
Saw that
He was hungry
Thirsty

Inside there was nothing
Not even a Cross
Not even an Alter
Nor a candle
did flicker

There was nothing on the walls
The stained glass windows were covered by sheets of metal
The hardwood floor
sank a little
He walked to the back room
An empty room
Not even a window

So he slept
and did not dream
His father taught him that Sleep Dreams were useless
when Savio woke
it was cold
Everything seemed very still
The walls holding their breaths
The Ceiling calm
The hardwood floor quiet not creaking

He opened the front doors
to see that it was Night
and that there were no Headlights
no Taillights
So he stumbled to the liquor store
Holding a Blue Notebook
That he used to
Write down the dreams he wanted to have
The Dreams
he was not allowed to have

At the liquor store
he bought wine
walked back to the abandoned church
and read to himself a dream he never had
but would like to have:
“I am home, a child, sitting or standing at a stream, it is warm, I am alone, but I am at home, Yet, I know that I will not be at this stream for ever.”

He closed his blue notebook
looking up he saw that the church was lit up
and music was
falling out of it
seeping through the wood like sap
The smell of coffee
the smell of cooking meat

Yet when he opens the door
it is empty
it is gray
it is tinted sad
And his father is there
peeling off the sheets of metal covering the stained glass

And Savio wakes up
Turns to his Blue Notebook.