Chicano Poet

Wednesday, September 03, 2008


El Louie in the fog of the cemetery
or on the dark streets of the barrio,

confronted by the brown zombies
who always come out at night.

There is no dance contest to win,
no fight with knives,

only a fight with words,
a fight about words,

a fight for words.
We must focus on what

the old words mean anew.
We have risen from the dead

to be alive again.
We shriek and take your place.

You have forfeited you time,
struck out and still demand to have

your say, but it's no dice---
we’re not your substitutes.


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