A Visit To America

by Quetzalcoatl Sandoval

Perhaps in no other country in the world is the poet

separated from the average person as much and as

distant. Even in a community such as a university the

poet is held at arm’s length by the Others. Because

he is a specialist in a field which is not tangible or at

least made of rare parts of the molecule which can 

never be seen or touched. If the poet is bold enough

to announce his existence he must either be a very

brave soul or the village idiot. Other poets may crawl

to his defense but not wholeheartedly--- no battles

or wars ever won. Defensive wounds are nothing to

brag about. How did America come to despise and

disown its poets? It is no secret that Americans have

gradually lost the use of language, relying instead on

grunts, slang, and blows to the chest or face. They

only use verbs. They can not use fingers, their life is

all knuckles now. Their thighs have reverted to scrapping

along. Maybe I have overstayed my welcome in Nuyor.

Tomorrow I will return to Mexico City. Perhaps I will

have more to say on the subject when I have a chance

to re-charge my batteries.