Butterfly

The seconds of your life so delicate to swipe
traveling together
the salt of the earth
begging along a piece of plastic
the dictator of sand
winks and twirls his cane above your head
your blonde hair
like a butterfly in the love-making trees.

Bad Man

I was your bad man
come hell or high water
your age was my cul-de-sac
the sun stopped in the sky like sand
shards of our love so sharp
you said you hurt so good
the wonder of your eyes
and sweet little blonde mouth
took me apart
the whiff of your puzzling blood
I was your bad man
until you started to lick
the beasts from our love.

Motor Running

Her thighs slightly apart
she looked up at him
as if he was the driest arroyo
ever planted on the Mexican earth
by the sweaty greasy Gods
with rotted teeth
and hairy shoulders,
how had she made love to him?

Border Justice

The sweaty Mexican sheriff
interrogates mojados.

Swift justice
must find a nickname.

The only deputy he can afford
is a cup of black coffee.

Can't pin a badge on cream
he laughs a carcajada.

A neighborhood prostitute
just fourteen.

Mojado semen
inside her soul.

She lives next to the birds.
Nothing escapes this lawful

son of a bitch. Montezuma's
revenge hours away by plane.

Scales and lips like a fish
boil behind the cortinas.

That's curtains for you,
my gringo friend.

The Sheriff laughs into the night,
shirtless like earth.

Showgirl

Those are big thighs
I tell the showgirl.

The space voyage
on the back of half-eaten fruit

barely over.
My head spins like a rock.

Love is not what
I had imagined.

These girls on Mars,
at least the ones

I've strangled,
shoot up into the sky

like broken pearly steam.
My Beatle jacket

you know
the one with the Nehru collar

is being finger-printed as we speak.
Red dust is not blood

I tell the jack o lantern
in Army garb

whose sole purpose in life
is to die.

You can go it says.
The showgirl was the last straw,

my land speeder
is parked right where I left it,

gathering a ton.
The showgirl kicks up her legs

to show the red planet
at its salty best.

Barrio Fever

In San Antonio
the walls turn black.

Burros recite poetry
stolen from La Raza.

The girl in the Mexican Bakery
smells of delicious buns.

No one knows
why the Westside sank.

Centeno's ghost fondles a girl
behind a shopping cart.

White people re-route the river
like semen.

The Alamo
moves swiftly.

Buttons on La Sandra's blouse
made of purple chicharones.

A transit bus on Zarzamora
perches atop a cactus.

Las viejitas
joke about time.

A plastic dog
drags away a window.

Indeed the walls
look better black.

My car's submerged in Woodlawn Lake
carjacked by badass Our Lady of the Lake.

Max and Cecilio
walk barefoot across Abbey Road.

Spanish missions dismantled
by Carmen's sexy sweat.

Oh, San Antonio,
what have you done to yourself?

I wish I could Arise!
like Angela.