Chicano Poet

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

The Bus Stop

There I was blowing up settlers
at a bus stop.

The silence was terrible
and appeared higher and higher.

The bright light was so dark,
empty words fell out of my lifeless head

and instantly I knew
the one solitary thing.

My body was no longer mine,
yet even more mine than before.

God was nearby and refused
to get involved.

He sent his shallow angels
who fanned their oily wings about

and leapt back into the hole of heaven
as if nothing would ever happen.


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