Pueblo de la Madre
Pueblo de la Madre
Condos at the end of the world,
beyond the Great Wall faux rock and bricks,
are strangely passive in their receipt of Spring;
the promise of the pastel colors of Easter,
reverberations from the dawn sun,
are eruptions in the eczematic grass.
Wash the Winter from our skins,
remove our fentanyl patches...
Wake, Lazarus!
Wake with those whose portals opened
when the Temple curtain ripped twain,
stupified ghosts of weekend grande jatte
on the isle La Grande Golgotha.
--
No comments:
Post a Comment