Strike quickly
evening is looming
press down your fear
till it burns in your belly
hunger you will call it
strike quickly
the air is wet with intoxication
drink down your trembling
till it hums in your chest
music you will call it
strike quickly

Bahia,
I drown without waking from your dream.
Like silk you slide down over my eyes
and it is dark as it should be.
Should we,
before the dawning of demasiado,
tip toe accross the waves
to dance in the streets,
I believe you will have convinced me
once more,
beyond the shadow of doubt
cast by the swaying trees,
to sink in your arms as you sing to me.
Bahia,
dulce Bahia.

Her quaintness was saturated with 'sweethearts' and 'honey,' bespeaking the youth of my face. I have let its hair grow free for three days now and the bare patches are starting to show, but it seems I have not fooled her. No. I have not fooled myself either. My teacher shoes feel a half size too big and my feet are sweating profusely. I wonder if God made summer for the lemonade or the perspiration. In three years I will have developed a label for this period of my life. I am currently three years short of expressing myself properly and I fear this will always be the case. What do men do in empty hotel rooms? I kick off my shoes to watch them bounce bluntly on the carpet I have seen somewhere before. There is a poor imitation of jazz playing in the lobby and I'm positive someone has mistaken it for the real thing. It leaves a weak hope I will fool them too. Maybe most men are pretending.

Pull them from their soap boxes,
these poets,
these preachers,
these dreamy-eyed sleep wreckers,
these shivers in the night.

Their words are made of anxiety,
this shaking,
this thunder,
this stirring of the water,
this pungent drone.

Tell them we are sleeping.
We do not wish to wake.
Tell them that our ears are filled
With mud from the stomach of lakes.
Shut them up, whatever it takes.

Drown them in the current,
the walking,
the awake,
the heavy-footed neighbors,
the bare-hearted teeth.

Sometimes I fear that your arms will pass through me.
With the wisp of uncertainties,
that you will reach for comfort
and find the wind lonely.

Sometimes I fear that one day you won't hear me.
With the clamor of fools,
that you will cup your ear
and hear nothing but indistinct drowning.

Sometimes I fear that one day you might see me.
With the drab of a pauper,
that you will look intently
and see an impoverished soul.

There is a part of you in me that wants to run;
A fear of sameness that once drove you from the sand.

There is a part of you I am looking for in my chin;
A boldness that lingers somewhere hidden under my teeth.

There are parts of you crammed into my shoulders;
A stubbornness filling up nearly every doorway.

There is a part of you in me that is smiling;
A pride like when you call me your son.

There are parts of me that are singing,
I am certain it is your father's song.

I have a heavy taste in my mouth.
cinnamon sticks and sage
broken wisdom in sound words
I have the earth on my tongue.
cloves and winger squash
thirsty for sweetened rain