•Morelia cemetario 2010- Mexico

•Morelia cemetario 2010- Mexico
For me it's a curious thing
To come from the flesh
To feel a life wash over my skin
A pebble Amidst a lost river of people
Flowing far from their source
To hard urban jungles
That strangle the earth
A million beating hearts march
Two feet close to the earth
When decay finally rolls up
As the foam washes the shore
A billion unheard poppings
Of seeds that are no more

In this urban jungle place
Where nobody sleeps
they build tiny houses
And once a week do sweep
Away the dust and earth gathered
Around their corazon
The transient tissues
Of paper and flesh
Once born are all now gone
A curious thing don't you think
Not a clever little trick
That at the source of the river
We try to hold nothing with brick
The steel fleur de leas garnish
A glass fragile coloured cross
And the trees take root on rafters
To show that you are lost
We travel separated
away from the one source
But all rest as one together
in places not south
And not north
Not inside the houses we visit
And so tenderly do sweep
But inside each one of these bodies
we curiously keep

The Road to Potosoi

The Road to Potosoi
Ribbons of birds
Float silkily through the evening sky
Over a mecano San franciscan pueblo
Power housing rows of lies
Insignificantly ordered
Beneath the sinking suns majesty
We pass the seering sierran ridges
Our lights now burning
The soon black sky