Chicano Poet

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Last night Henry and Mr. Bones and Moi st towellette
were watching the 1846 DVD version of Casablanca.
Of course, all the action takes place in Walt’s Leaves
of Grass Café. The slave plays “As Time Drags By”
on the harpsichord. Emily struts into the café wearing
a chastity belt. God, she should have gotten a bikini
wax. But, I digress, this 1847 Casablanca is way better
than the Bogie version. In the end, like always, Emily
flies off into the thick pea soup and migas fog with
the Wrong Brothers. Muy, muy mal. Walt remains
in Casablanca with his new French friend Marcel
the Mime who pretends that the book Leaves of Grass
is a glass box. I hope the bastard suffocates. Le haha.


For My Girl While Flying To Paris

What do I see behind you, love,
burned cities, life unattained,
a garden unoccupied,

one of your high-heeled shoes
dodging the bullets of our own government,
rubber gloves the doctor used

to see inside of you,
sheets at home around your smile,
your name amongst blades of grass?

In other countries I hear
that the white does not lift from snow,
piers left without oceans,

a ripple spreads throughout a stone.
Dust, a clock invented by the god
as he approached the fogged-in airport.


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