family fun

seems that with the mexican root canal
comes a hefty splotch
of mexican pain pills.

turns 1 beer into 6
and mariachi
into a thorn
in
my
mind.

nothing new there
but i can say
that the pills
have suppressed
my inhibitions
to the point that
i am teetering
alarmingly
close
to heading
up ten floors
so i can
take
a
piss
on
the
band.

after so many years of rock and roll,
one deserves a little peace and quiet.

deliverance

between the broken legs
smashed feet
coughing
knees
and finally
this toothache
that has had me
drinking scotch since 2
i might suspect that i am getting old.
the single malts are working
the toothache is still there
but i am duller
and apathetic
and feeling younger because of it.

the hotel has opted
for classical
the mexican string quartet
playing the best excerpts from
bach
beethoven
strauss
mozart
and a couple of movie soundtracks

which i don't mind.

anything
just
no
more
fucking
mariachi.

t.v.

wandering backstreets
outside the matrix
i can still feel
her cold
cold
grip
forging
a
paradigm
where
everything
is explained.

flu.

i emerge from the room
alseep for a day
disheveled
damp
lost and confused.

spent by the passing of the virus
not sure weather to sit in bed for another day
or try to pretend like i can function
talk
understand
type
walk.

act like a human being
instead of
a newborn
just out of the womb
disheveled
damp
lost and confused.

of course i wouldn't want to be mistaken
for anyone
in
that
sorry
state.

childhood dream

seems like fever is the best high these days.
best one can hope for anyhow
given the circumstances of who i've become.

finally i get to shudder and sweat
just like i used to.

lose weight and shit the bed
just like back then.

there are people walking in the hall
and on the wall in the hall,
i am sure the latter aren't real.

i can finally be pale
gaunt
black circle eyed.

i can whimper at the sight of oprah on the t.v.

i can tear up at the suggestion in the commercials
especially the ones for long lost animals
and dying children.

i can recoil at the touch of another person.
i have a good excuse.

i can sleep all day,
stay up all night,
eat a whole box of popsicles
only then to projectile vomit them
into the sink
acroos the room
onto the floor
the mirror
the wall

luscious greens
deep blues
and pinks
still soluable
as they drip down
in bile rivers,
chasing my heart
my hopes
my mind.

just like they used to
way back when
before my fall
before i was broken
when i was still sweet
hopeful
empty
and ready for the world to give me the ride.

caminar

sometimes there are sidewalks
sometimes none
then
just walk
in the gutter
scraping dead leaves
against asphalt
and concrete
they are returning
to dust
joining the rest of us
in our seemingly slow decay.

single file
all of the working families
struggling
in the gutters
on their way.

an american couple
in a rented mustang
tear by us
close
i can feel the air
and static in the hair on my arms,
as they yell, "move it, wetbacks!"

seems like
an especially stupid thing to say
in mexico
surrounded by mexicans
south of the rio grande.

none the less
the comment lands
on us
in the gutter
walking.

the others look around
at eachother
and me
shrug
"gringos,"
walk on.

i am somehow included
or at least overlooked.

my tan must be improving.

18

last stop
old mexico
marooned outside the city
with the families
giggling teenage girls
in the resorts.

might be the age of running away
to the crumbling city
following whores
back to small rooms

chasing cheap drinks
from the beach to the town

might be the age
of rest
reason
study
production

death of the young man
who should have spent more time
chasing girls

birth of the old man
who is discontent
with sitting and watching
but knows

it only makes sense
when he waits
and they come to him.

beer and burgers

crawling blue mountains
accelerating
impending
until the tips of giants
tickle enough of the sky
to cave in on themselves
on me
my sorry skull
tumbled along like like a stray dog
at the end of the line
avelanche
deafening white
suspended
still
directionless
surrendered
then
sunlight
air
salvation
hope
next wave
crushed
again and again.
Hawaiians said it was a small day
which makes me feel
fucking tiny
for which I am glad.