"mescal" poems
Baja California
Tequila drawings on the wall
A big fat policeman against the door
The drunken band plays on and on
Baja California
Cheap motel bugs on the wall
Pimps and ****** out in the hall
The neon light goes on and on
Baja California
Mescal tequila throat on fire
Burnt rubber takeoff screeching tyres
The dirt toll road goes on and on
Baja California
Mother tied up on the front lawn
Daddy waiting for the doctor in the dawn
And the pain goes on and on
Baja California
Shanty houses complete with TV
Pumping in the American dream
While the children scream on and on
Jan 17, 2012
Jan 17, 2012 at 9:52 AM UTC
The sands of El Dorado
Lash my tongue under tarp;
Wishes born something golden,
Fried eggs under beds
And homes, abodes in progress,
One peso at a time –
A tale and tear with every grain,
An allowance and granted only
Broken window.
The ragged lump of pillow
Where I now taste time,
Reeks of mescal with my
One white elbow
Tapping one bronze elbow;
Distant, under woven wanderings
And tattered dreams of parents
Wishing well – come subtle guilt,
Whilst the roofs of a prior Tibet
Tap atop my tether.
And while I ponder what strums –
Atriums, tempest and tubular,
I also reckon in what it means to be
Held and held alike
So that I can protect
And protect alike;
She’s waiting for me in “before”
And in Mexico, in the “now,”
So much sooner the past.
So to sooner, broken the future.
And so mothers will cry in kitchens,
Others laugh come the next fool
And yet others, abandon others
So that soon, recklessly soon, my feet
Make a wonderful twist toward away;
But at least I’d had this sunset –
Something to ride off into like the
Liquid dreams off a furrowed brow
And at least we’d had “we” on more time.
Just one more time.
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
He had been on the road for a while
trekking from city unknown to city unknown
in a cloud of dust kicked up
by a Greyhound bus
he used a different name in every city
he wasn't a criminal,
but he was on the run,
he simply enjoyed anonymity
enjoyed being everybody's imaginary friend
He took magic mushrooms in Richmond
and rode the image of his grand spiritual quest
like a drug induced steed,
rode it straight to San Jose
where he met some migrant workers
who drank cheap mescal
beneath the stars of the dead pan landscape
wasters of the great American wasteland
and in New Mexico city
he was given a tab of acid
which dissolved under his tongue
in an explosion of hypnotic torture
his life reflected as a visage
as hallucinogenic as the walls which rippled all around him,
Portland was ******* and oxy pills
his humanity stretched tight like a drum
ready to snap at any given stimuli
he made it to California
dreams of LA
he became addicted to the limelight,
pretty hipster chicks who were foolish enough
to sleep with him,
simply because he introduced himself as a writer,
simply because he could work the word,
and he settled in San Diego
where the whiskey poured freely
and the *** was enough to blow your ******* head off,
in a small one room apartment
where the rent was cheap,
he drank and smoked himself in a stupor
with the windows open -
enjoying the soft pacific breeze which washed him of his sins
he had been all over his forced continent
looking for a place to call home,
but he never found what he was looking for,
and with grit and determination
and a hunger for the freedom of the American dream
he packed up again,
and left for the road,
a thief in the all encompassing night
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 11:15 AM UTC
I have come to conclusion
over sunpierced crust
brittle as tobacco leaf
astride mottled nag
scraggling on loose gravel
sandsoaked
saltsteeped
leadheavy in lid
past dactyled tracks
parallel cobbled macadam
wavering shale
lockjawed lava rock
fractured cobalt
lone juniper
forgotten scrub
open boil of tar and pitch
halfburied bones of leviathan
still shifting in the clouded boom
of stone
through grapeshot hail
adobed pueblos
thatchskinned women
and straw men
all witches
flaying the gila
pestling scale with cornmeal
and fermented mescal
desert sangria
hallucinating sideways in the murk
where coyotes yip
and each star a conflagration
mirrored in the captive eyes
of floundered meteorites
at the terminus
where sun and moon merge
I know the question
and response
from where do you come
to where do you go
Dec 15, 2011
Dec 15, 2011 at 5:04 PM UTC
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.”
Aug 19, 2015
Aug 19, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
Let's hit the road
my partner in crime
lets load up our guns
burn our I.D.'s
and hop on the first
freight train headed south
to Mexican tequila
and the baking sun and sand
living life in flashes of violence
like lightening pitch forks in the sky
streaking across the barren places
which are yet to be tamed by man
we'll gun down sheriffs and posses
and **** cheap mescal
and gulf water
and dust
keeping each other safe
in the low din of the early morning
as an orange fire flickers against
burning out to embers,
so vulnerable to the wind,
against all odds still burning
and we will wake before the sun
and find somewhere
where we no longer
feel the need to run
Mar 25, 2013
Mar 25, 2013 at 1:21 PM UTC
Tequila
Mescal
Whiskey
Scotch
Bourbon
***
*****
Gin
Wine,
Red and White
also effervescent
Chartreuse
and other
sacred Elixirs-
Which is your flavor,
or are your flavors?
Each has it's merit
and all have a history
and they're all related
and they're all very old.
Show them respect
by appreciating the tool
rather than clutching a crutch,
whether you chose to imbibe or abstain,
tread lightly
when it comes to how you treat preference.
Remember,
you have yours as well,
and wouldn't you want it respected?
Nov 19, 2016
Nov 19, 2016 at 8:28 PM UTC
2 AM and I just wanna mention that the glass still clears a reflection and I think there's something strange going on. The flammable liquid of your smile and the list upon a life upon a mescal high fix it fix it fix it. There's not much to say, except who hasn't seen the world glow? Who hasn't seen the world burn? Who hasn't seen the world purr all soft cat smiles and friendly "yesma'ams"? We need an often-presence, so take what you will.
Nov 28, 2013
Nov 28, 2013 at 5:49 AM UTC
"usted es un borracho!"
"si."
the medicine cabinet creaks
to a close.
oaxaca mescal and glass;
temporary relief at last.
lit shadows deluge through
open doors open windows
nothing left hidden,
curved lines on his sluggish brown;
corse grey all over his sluggish brown
how did you fall in the routine?
how did you grieve?
homesick to the home you now cry in
eyes droopy and slurring yells
to make it dry inside
oaxaca mescal and glass;
temporary relief at last.
crossroads of hollow love
bear through another man.
cement and tiles cold
bare skin sprawling in on all fours,
more sips to cure.
oaxaca mescal and glass;
temporary relief at last.
splashes of many bottles
he doesn't mind,
he's done it before as if countless times,
but with others now forgotten.
dark crescent in the sky
marks where he toasted to himself
darkness seizes another sadness
to how he compromised.
oaxaca mescal and glass;
temporary relief at last.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 1:56 AM UTC
Raio de sol
Despertar de consciências
Inicio da viagem.
Percorro os caminhos,
tortuosos da minha mente.
Parto a explorar o deserto.
Mescal
Visões
Vou
aos trambolhões
por um rio que corre ao contrário.
Vou
na esperança
de o vencer até ao cimo.
Estou perdido,
onde nunca me encontrei,
mas vou.
Abençoada é a noite,
Onde cada dia é uma viagem pela história.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 3:38 PM UTC
The dangerously glamorous life of Chateau Marmont, where everybody is racing at an incredible speed. Velvet nights fraught with promise and mystery under large canyon moons. Skinny dipping in the heated saltwater pool, bodies dripping wet, in the privacy of palm trees, old Hollywood charm in swaying leaves fanned across the indigo sky, as we dangled over the city. Parties in the hidden bungalows, punctuated by pinot grigio and mescal mules, in and out of bedrooms and beds and clothes. ******* on hands, car keys forgotten, I tore your silk shirt as you threw it off the bed.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 2:11 PM UTC
The red worm swims
in amber liquid
sugars fermented
from baked agave
Visions await
in the bottom
of the bottle
and in the body
of the worm
Demon spirit
calling me
wishing to transport
me to an ancient land
of good and evil
where the worm still crawls
The road is hot and long
but the liquid is cold and smoky
the burn deadening me to the pain
and allowing me to slip
through the veil
where the worm reigns
When I arrive
and meet the worm
I swallow him whole
he tells me to look up
I see tinted curved glass
and a ring of blue-sky
from inside the bottle
where I am trapped
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:37 PM UTC
a lime bursting
cascaron agrio I bite
where is the mescal
and motown at 2:00 am
Mar 16, 2022
Mar 16, 2022 at 12:56 PM UTC