Jalisco Composition #1
Dreams lend themselves to my mind’s stove, are cooked, burned and charred. Their ashen remains fall like flakes, A snow colder than the winter. My nose is stung, and in my pain, I forgot how bad I hurt. The simple agony as fingers claw their way along my thigh, complacently like a dewdrop working his way into bitter leaves racing against the abduction of the morning sun. And the little home I built Along the misty lake in my mind, Is washed away forever. And though my dreams try to live, they drown. And though I try to drown, I live.