Chicano Poet

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

The Fall Of Troy

my thumbprint on your lips
the simmering inside of you

a pocketknife of hair
hollers from its haunches

I take a pencil with me
to the quarry

I love you in a narrow ore
I fought the Trojans for you

wearing only a bell for armor
the sun finally set like wine

if I have only won your past
is that enough

Hercules or lichen
climbed on by a beetle

perhaps in another life
not being loved suffices


At 11:36 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Me gusta.

Esmeralda Bernal

At 12:53 PM, Blogger RC said...



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