Chicano Poet

Wednesday, November 08, 2006


The sound of a dead America hangs
with the dust in New York City,
dust mixed with human molecules,

floating bone fragments,
gases that once were human.
That gas, there, ebbing and flowing

used to be a child riding
in one of the planes.
The gas circles invisible firemen

who run through the duststorm,
it circles itself
and then dissipates

to whatever these gases
dissipate to and the sound
of a dead America hangs in the air.


Post a Comment

<< Home