Reflections Of A Purple Stone
the desert searches for a wet spot
against a purple stone
a corner of the sun
has drawn blood
pebbles swallow the wind
to prolong your smile
I had run out of gas
but the revolution was at hand
mad windshield wipers
flicked cockroaches
the taco place
would not repent
the ax you wore
for a skirt
was driving me
insane
harvest moon shining
like demon Anglo faces in the night
I threw my jacket
into the darkness
until the sun’s two chocolate feet
rescued me
and my Mayan words
round as coins
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