"mezcal" poems
You, saying love
You, shaman's road
You, a bird
You, a yellow sun
You, Emperor
You, lovely door
You, my Walt Whitman
You, Neal
You, Sal Paradise
You, Pancho Villa
You, La Revolución Mexicana
You, navajo
You, the border
You, the river
You, chicana
You, Mafia
You, redemption
You, poetry
You, Salvador Dalí
You, Picasso
You, stereo
You, love
You, ***
You, youth
You, America
You, América
You, español
You, english
You, country side
You, cat
You, fire
You, books
You, E. E. Cummings
You, Bukowski
You, Octavio Paz
You, Coca-Cola
You, Coke
You, India
You, Mississippi
You, jazz
You, Miles
You, Davis
You, water
You, rain
You, lagoon
You, chest
You, car
You, road
You, reading
You, lines
You, Paris
You, Baudelaire
You, Poe
You, japanese
You, katana
You, Mishima
You, gun
You, rifle
You, cam
You, can
You, can't
You, Durango
You, Arizona
You, desert
You, gonzo
You, mezcal
You, alcohol
You, drive
You, crush
You, alive
You, again
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 3:16 PM UTC
And how can
one go mad
Buttercup,
when one is already
crazier than a loon?
Does one get madder
through self-indulgence?
Pray tell me please,
put my mind at ease,
Buttercup.
Should I drink
a whole bottle of mezcal,
burn an ounce of herb or
snort a mountain of flake?
Oh, I do ache, Buttercup!
But should I
buy a Hummer,
spend my money
on frivolous things,
like endless raindrops?
Oh Buttercup,
how do you
keep your pain
in check?
Through
these
restless situations?
I think
methinks
not.
Jul 14, 2014
Jul 14, 2014 at 10:21 PM UTC
In a palapa in Yalapa
Drinking mezcal moonshine
with a local named Rudolpho
He waves his hands in circles and squares
in candle shadows
Eyes turn inward to see
becoming a mind in the present
childlike wonder
big moon rising
pulling internal tides
stretching roots
grounded in the earth
Rudolpho knows how to laugh in colors
He knows how to dance Zorba style
arms held high to the diamonds in the sky
Nothing was achieved but everything was fixed
Zooming towards a universal experience
among the universal mind
Don't know where the night went
Rudolpho knows the ritual of the sun
Told me what I needed to know
singing
"Hurray another day"
while a parrot calls my name
and a scorpion slips into my shoe.
A palapa has no walls
I didn't either
all I was
was windows
Drinking mezcal moonshine
with a local named Rudolpho
he knows all about goodbyes.
Sep 5, 2016
Sep 5, 2016 at 9:20 PM UTC
Tu transmigración será ir de cama en cama,
durmiendo raros sueños parejos al segundo ocaso,
de las fábricas del tiempo verás el eterno paso
y serás como una vana sombra urdida por el karma.
El misterio de la identidad es sostenido
por las divinas piezas que forman la memoria.
el cerebro, único amanuense de la historia
rapsodia el ser que miente lo que has sido.
En el vino que es nepente y en el delirio del mezcal
buscaste el rostro que tenías antes de crearse el mundo,
y aunque la fiera enferma te convoque a lo profundo
no evitarás esa sustancia doble como lago de sal:
La voluntad. Su potencia sugiere el arte o la copulación
y su tremendo motor vuelca decadencia en apogeo,
no escapan de su orbe las horas diseñadas por Morfeo
y su caravana te escolta de la abulia a la revelación.
Todos los días sos otro. Sin embargo,
hay algo que te pertenece:
la idea de la luna, el amor y la amistad,
la música, los dones y la fantasía.
a Pascal Quignard
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 1:15 AM UTC
When the tequila stings my throat
things start to happen,
repression flows
forth
like a cat walking on water,
quick & frantic
I tell stories,
tales about things
I keep under lock & key,
living brokenhearted.
Well, **** mysteries,
don't let them stay bottled up,
guzzle gin instead of Mezcal.
Holy cow true believer,
poke yourself with ******
to find out what is righteous,
remember Camelot.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
velvet-soft touch,
a rainbow sunrise,
naïve smiles
reflected in your eyes.
caribbean lightning,
words written in sand,
goosebumps rising
up my arm, down my hands.
tropical jungle,
a caressing breeze,
sun-kissed freckles
spilling over me.
sweat-drenched longing,
a turquoise bay,
your quiet glance
burning like fate.
scorching sunlight,
hunger in flames,
a mariachi chorus
dancing 'round the blaze.
spanish murmurs —
'vamos al bar',
your family waits
with mezcal in a jar.
bare feet wandering,
a crimson sky,
the sea kisses shells
the tide leaves behind.
seductive darkness,
a star-scattered dome,
the high-risen moon
spins legends of home.
a gentle touch,
chestnut-brown eyes,
beneath the palms,
desire comes alive.
laughing gulls,
a tide that won’t part —
and in this sand
i bury my heart.
Jun 17, 2025
Jun 17, 2025 at 10:17 AM UTC
the hues of black
of the object in front of me
closely vibrates each shade of the spectrum of worldly colors
showing them self
they warn me
their caution to better my own
the chemical begins to gnaw at my ego
the green hallway to nowhere in my brain
where the monsters chased me as a child
where I’d run to hide away
seem endless
terror doesn’t live here
flashes of LEDs shining through the bottles of mezcal next to mescaline laying on the table
remind me you don’t live there
listen to the sounds of a voice you don’t want to hear
block out that **** you say
god I don’t even know
what day is it?
Sep 28, 2020
Sep 28, 2020 at 8:44 PM UTC
**** she said
You are a ***** with no batteries
Like a sword with no handle
Then a cup of coffee flew straight
To my left eye
**** she said, you are worthless
That night I went to the store
Beer and mezcal were on my mind
**** she said
I've been looking all over for you
What happened to your eye?
Let me kiss you she said
I left her place this time
Early morning.
Mar 15, 2016
Mar 15, 2016 at 8:48 PM UTC
Little Martha and her
yellow apples.
She drinks warm Mezcal
in the Poppy fields.
Copper canyon runners
wear thin leather
thongs on their
callused ash white feet.
Elevated Chicken coops
keep the Hens cool
in the summer and
safe from the
Copperheads on the
desert floor below.
Men soar like
Eagles and glide
around Polaris.
Trust in the
Hemp ropes
and trust in their
Creator.
Her father went South
to fight for his People.
That's the story she
still tells when asked
about him today.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 5:49 AM UTC
the mezcal incident, now
that was surely one doozy/
started out with a shot of Patrone
no lime or salt at ten in the morn'/
at this strip joint in Wicksburg
where they advertise
two hot babes three skinny one's
and one big mama,
on their marquee, which is one of
those lighted portable signs plastic letters things
the kids like to vandalize by
like on the Natural Light Deliverance Tabernacle
I minister at occasionaly, we have one of those ,
had In God We Trust , lettered on it on saturday.
Sunday, at eleven, when we arrived for worship ,
it said in dogs we gust,
limited letters to arrange so,
I got the teen hoodlum gyst/
I ramble on so much, wouldn't
blame you
if you lost interest,
but anyways/
this day, what I mentioned early in this,
started out fairly innocent, a drink
a gander at female utilitarianism,
and a shot,
thing about tequila
sitting down you don' t know how ****** up you are
get up, try to stand and wow!
I keep digressing,
that day
hell I ******* forgot/
Sorry to lead you on.
Apr 5, 2017
Apr 5, 2017 at 7:22 PM UTC
Staring at the comp
The little worm eats my brain
Hole after hole he digs
Or she, I don't ******* care
It's a worm, you're a human
Spinning on a rock
Floating through space
Let's not make too much of it
Anyway, back to this
As the worm pushes along
******** out your brain mass
You're left with two options
Either you're even more dumb
Than you were before
Or somehow you begin to see
The pattern of your worm
How he eats, where he moves
What he likes and you become
The little worm
Feeding yourself what you need
Knowing that worm is there forever
What will your little worm do now?
Apr 2, 2019
Apr 2, 2019 at 2:14 PM UTC
Shuffle the cards
Lets play Maligas
Or perhaps
We are both already fated
To die
Death is certain
We know only this
But the cards are curtains
Of water falling
Reign in blood
Jan 8, 2016
Jan 8, 2016 at 12:21 AM UTC
We chose Ixtapa for our honeymoon
because it was not yet commercialized,
as so many other places in Mexico
had become. We spent a lot of time
in Zihuatanejo; We burned bay leaves
in static pots of delicacy, ignoring the fruit flies
as we drank mezcal.
You swallowed the maguey worm,
and hallucinated its life as a moth
before it's capture from the agave.
It hit you like the Gulf that
May of 1986; beautifully
and cold.
You looked like a watercolor
entangled in the rope hammock.
Wide-mouthed and muscular,
in the reflection
of my sterling cuff bracelet.
While I examined my jewelry,
our feet were buried in the sand
by the dust we swallowed during our upbringing.
Bred and raised for fighting, we made love
like a bull kissing capote;
Taunting one another in
a masculine ring, performing
in foreign terrain.
You were so delicate
with your hands around my throat.
You helped me forget
by pulling apart the wings of my droning youth
that week.
May 15, 2019
May 15, 2019 at 10:18 PM UTC
It's truly a happy place,
scores of turistas
sitting
under the relentless
sun,
freedom club warriors
inhaling fifty-year-old anejo,
gulping those mezcal stingers
& imbibing golden
beverages
believing every girl
named Lupita
professes
true love.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 6:49 PM UTC
I remember the crazy times
we'd travel down south
to the outlaw town of Ensenada.
We'd swing by Hussong's
for some golden elixir
& Mezcal mixers.
It was a fun wild-place,
where having your face
rest in your own *****
was allowed at your table.
I mean nobody gave a ****** about such things.
It was truly a place where anything went,
especially drunkenness.
The last time we visited,
some twenty years ago,
we lost two hitchhikers
we had picked up
in Malibu
on the PCH.
Now years later,
I wonder how,
or if
they ever made it back.
Apr 21, 2015
Apr 21, 2015 at 5:09 PM UTC
Here is a list of things that are bigger,
greater than all of the world's oceans,
bigger than the storms in the seas,
than all the islands in the Pacific,
connecting all of us together,
being one great channel of culture...
Telenovela, chismes, galeones,
teleserye, chismis, galleon.
𝘚𝘪𝘣𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪 𝘓𝘢𝘱𝘶-𝘓𝘢𝘱𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘪 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯.
𝘌𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘥𝘢 𝘯𝘪 𝘔𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢𝘯? 𝘒𝘢𝘩𝘶𝘭𝘶𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘯𝘨 𝘬𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯.
Sangría? No, sangre de Magallanes.
𝘕𝘪ñ𝘰𝘴, 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦 𝘦𝘯 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘢 𝘦𝘯 𝘷𝘦𝘻
𝘥𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘻𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘰 𝘨𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴.
And believe it or not;
Bulerías, danza, bachata, habaneras.
How do you like your coffee, bebe?
Con leche? Bueno.
Evaporada and condensada?
Tequila, San Miguel, Mezcal, Corona,
Cerveza, Serbesa, Cerrado, Sarado.
𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘰 𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘨𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘢,
𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘭𝘶𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘦𝘭𝘰.
Actually, how do you like your coffee?
𝘛𝘦 𝘨𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘢 𝘦𝘭 𝘤𝘢𝘧é?
𝘚𝘪 𝘯𝘰, 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘰 𝘲𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘦𝘥𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘶 𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘰.
So do you like it hot or con hielo?
And of course;
Canciones, c/kanta,
And nowㅡreggateon, budots.
Gasolina? Aserejé? Macarena?
Bad Bunny, being our new Columbus.
Playitas, islas, karagatan, nuestro paraíso.
Mas chismes, mas tazas de cafe.
How do you think we're so far yet so alike?
Of all these things? Con chisme? Claro.
So which one first? The juiciest or latest?
Jul 22, 2024
Jul 22, 2024 at 4:20 AM UTC
I don't know how I walked on//
Almost like I was a six foot energy for just that half hour//
Just a piece of mass waiting to be created//
I was literally controlled by the voices//
But once the groove kicked in, I controlled the faces//
The eyeballs none, the hair stood up, and their ears mine//
Sounds insane to the smallest of minds//
But if you find a way to dissect your own brain//
You've pretty much answered the questions with no response//
Anyways, I looked out to the sea of people, which was no more than thirty people//
That's all I needed to be inspired,
That's all u needed to feel the higher,
The end of my words hit the microphone with so much sincerity//
I almost felt like it spoke back in the most native dialect//
And I understood every word,
I understood that it wasn't me anymore//
It was the shaman I've been seeing in my dreams//
I could hear the shells dance around the fire//
I could smell the mezcal in the air//
I felt my muscles melt to nothing,
But the burning in my gut made the heart rise//
She's never came down, she remains high//
Forever as long as I continue to show the birth of life//
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
East Side LV
My country is you.
My nationality is you.
Calles tostadas por el sol,
con palos verdes de flores amarillas.
Folks coming out to walk after 7 p.m. ‘cause of the heat —
elotero tricycle (and golf carts),
mangoneada con mucho chamoy,
trails with broken light posts.
My nationality is you.
Taquería on every corner,
señora selling sunflowers en la esquina,
countless Brown entrepreneurs.
Accent thick as atole, or thin as mezcal —
home away from home, but home nonetheless.
A Yeti trapped in the desert,
front yard nopales, roses, and Guadalupes.
Trunk tamales.
Pick-up trucks, college degrees,
aspirational wealth,
a proudly stubborn Spanish,
unwilling to leave our tongues —
and if they cut our tongues,
we will still dream in Spanish.
My nationality is you.
Mariachi singing the national anthem,
horse-riding vaqueros,
soccer-playing muchachas.
Botánica in the middle of the swap meet,
sacred drummings on scorching hot weekends,
birria Sundays,
underground rivers.
Working class,
rich in culture,
color,
envy of many.
East Side LV —
My country is you.
My nationality is you.
Not sure if you realized it by now,
but this is a love poem to you, East Side LV.
Jun 12, 2025
Jun 12, 2025 at 1:34 PM UTC
You find yourself in another city
Feeling inspired with a friend
A pretty bird with a smile
You find a bar
Where typewriters are on the wall
And pages from books make up the wallpaper
Gin and mezcal
Passionfruit and cherries
The Pet Shop is open
Filled with the opposite ***
Everyone wants to get to know you
Get in your head like the words in a book
Making plans for road trips
And future apartments
Iceland and Nashville
Go before it's too late.
Apr 24, 2017
Apr 24, 2017 at 7:52 PM UTC
White roses hook sleeves
in a hot rain park
as we hurry to leave
a new fringing dark
of clouded eaves.
I drink mezcal, you sip
soft wine, we kiss
at the bar as storms slip
through streeted air
with a springing hiss.
Lightning lashes bare
angles of pink night.
We lean close, share
Sunday's appetite.
Jul 22, 2019
Jul 22, 2019 at 4:19 PM UTC