Friday, November 19, 2010

Tortas Ahogadas

I see the savage in the mirror
Connected and cut off.
I see but can’t place the face,
Living in two worlds.
The place intimately known
To the last brick
Whose ways seem foreign.

The evening horizon burns low embers
Huddled, cramped knees to chin
Blinding, orange yellow filtered by dust,
Piercing a shadowed darkness.
Tongue still burning from chile de árbol,
Sweat drying on over heated skin,
Burning like a radiator in the dark.
A covered pickup, slits open, flap up
Bodies tangled, passionless,
Fatigued, half waking, resting

Relax, just relax, relax, relax.

Should feel alone,
Should feel cut off,
He only feels home,
Far, far away.

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