Chicano Poet

Thursday, April 04, 2013

The Sky Man

At six
she fell under his spell.

By eight
it was too late.

He had
invented the sky.

Filled it
with tables

which she
gladly climbed.

Her knees
bled easily then.

Her pretty cheeks
safe as glue.

Her apartment building
held at the end

of a funnel,

her saucy
and sandy voice.

Her lips
protruded at the stalk.

The nearby lake
split corners

like the carnival
she said

when she had
turned eighteen.

And as he pressed
against her,

her juices
bitter and sweet

rose from the sea
to drown.


Post a Comment

<< Home