Julius Cesar Alley Way

The Three Little Pigs remind us that most
white Texans came here illegally, a lot of them
were slave-rapers and a lot of them were criminals.






Et Tu, Brute?


The Three Little Pigs sit between
Victor and Ilsa as the plane
speeds down the foggy, bumpy runway,

their tails folded neatly
for the long ride
to the Italian rash of New York City,

buildings imagine other buildings,
carbon monoxide has fallen in love
with your unanswerable ass.

They will someday use your brown skin
on the Statue of Liberty,
bees wearing helmets against you.

The Three Little Pigs spin tuxedos
in a taxi syllable,
cute as hell and twice as large.

Ilsa and Victor walk hand in hand,
Rick in her brain cells.
Cesar stabbed by snouts.