Chicano Poet

Thursday, March 15, 2007

The Journey Home

The long journey home took its toll,
the bullet wounds soothed by the sea.
Sometimes a dream breaks off

from a clump of other dreams,
tentacles tattered but still attached.
The creature fights the currents,

fish scatter and return to question,
to contemplate submerged wonders,
thoughts which are strung together differently

from yours and mine Robinson confirmed
as he tried to collect pieces
of the vanished nightmares

which have a hard time surviving daylight hours.
But, he put the puzzle together
from what he was able to salvage.

Suddenly, he recognized himself, slapped at the puzzle,
and all the pieces flew across the floor,
a chill went up his neck,

there was a sudden fragrance
of damp caves, spelunker bones trapped
so close to the entrance of the city.

All the cars were black
except for a yellow taxi
Robinson had hailed.

Robinson’s right hand held down his hat,
his overcoat blew open in the freezing wind,
unusual for the Amazon, he cursed.


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