El Dia de los muertos

 

El Dia de los muertos

 

Breathe

In Fumes

The gut of a worm spinning

Tequila poured

Candles lit

Yellow marigolds wreathing

graveside

It isn’t just this mouth open

Gaping fish

Taking on water

Sinking down

Here the muck is deeper than that

One o’clock am pacing

Death by dreaming

A coffin closing

I scratch

I scream

Air a commodity

I have no trade to give

Is my skull nearly bleached white-

A paper cutout to hang from the ceiling

Will I then have sold enough?

This soul a strange rail line

Recollecting transit into

Another time

There I am a

Being

A lady like Mictecacihuatl

Still infant in my expectations

Legs, arms, ribcage holding

This a pelvis

Rounded bone

Both barren and fertile

We ache

Tilt your body over

Call upon the saints

They are too long asleep

I hunger for their intercessions

Those strange processions that drape

Statues like live beings

While live we act as if dead….