Chicano Poet

Wednesday, August 10, 2005

Pedal To The Metal

Everytime Henry returns, burns, learns,
the old home town distant from the moon,
nothing left but bones and koans.

Friends that played in the band,
friends that rode bicycles on weekends,
friends that fractured,

friends that spun out of control like tornadoes,
friends Henry last saw eating tacos,
friends who took the skin off poetry.

The Wolfman was right,
you can’t go home again,
the tall buildings are country roads,

traffic takes the place of stop signs.
Look ahead you see yourself,
look behind you see yourself.

Henry jumps like a plague of locusts
spitting tobacco juice,
he heads back home like Hansel and Gretel.


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