Chicano Poet

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Beauty Lies In The Eyes Of The Bemoaner

I borrowed religion since I’d run out of bats.
You crossed your legs like M&M’s
and hoarded the blue sky.

So what the hell did it get me?
Your baby astronaut head
must have startled your mother,

causing the same pain you bring me with your smile.
Like Gulliver,I landed
on the wrong lint.

Twins do not faze Spiderman
or so he tells his aunt,
but I’m not buying it.

Your sister tries to convince me otherwise.
Your Modigliani neck
arrogant in its beauty,

your Crivelli fists own all of my black eyes
imaginary in the valley of the heart.
I wish you were the face on Mars.


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