"Ensenada, the dead seal
The dog crucifix
Ghosts of the dead car sun
Stop the car!
I'm getting out, I can't take it
Hey, look out, there's somebody coming,
And there's nothing you can do about it..."
Jim Morrison
We tripped over the shoelaces of the beat,
We stopped; we got a fight to
Eat,
We passed beneath a statue of
Frankenstein, or is it
Jesus,
Presiding like a light over the
Street?
We caught the dancing
Shadows
Of the shoes of someone
Floating
Overneath our heads. Another
Ghost of the dead car
Sun,
Perhaps, relapsing from the
Dead.
We talked to the singing tamale
Seller
On the floor of the sunshine
Cellar; turns out,
It's Jesus not Frankenstein after
All, presiding over the
Baja,
The bottom of the
Haha,
The floor of the few is comprised of the
Ceiling of the
Maha,
But neither peso, queso, nor apocalyptic
Penny
Can translate into Spanish
The Maori word for
Many.
Are we visiting the water shop?
Moving into the sober
Men's house,
Far beyond
The casino cloud
Horizon?
Are we the drunking gringo
Rat?
The singing narco
Mouse?
How do I adjust
The bitrate of my hat?
Nevermind the horizon;
My eyes are on the henhouse!
We move like money through the
Hands of green and golden
Pastors,
Over hills of coins,
Through vast herds of drunken
Bastards,
Toward a beersoaked El
Dorado, to kick the
Devil out of
Eden,
Reclaim for Christ the golden hair
Of hedonistic, would-be
Sweden;
We are free,
And we are bleedin'
Like a sacrificial halfwit
All over the emerald
Sidewalk,
The sleeping people in my
Shoes,
The armpit of the
Muse,
The everlasting golden
Pastures.
7.29.26
Ensenada, MX
Zelle: [email protected]
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Thank you for your support.
NP
