Chicano Poet

Monday, July 19, 2004


You stand petrified before the audience,
one of the oldest professions on earth;
you can’t remember your lines
and when you do,
they don’t elicit the response
you expected.
You write about the world
as you see it,
but only other poets
seem to see it the same way.
We are indeed a rare breed---
one that can not reproduce.
We live by spontaneous combustion,
our offspring do not spring from us!


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