Monday, November 20, 2006

El Dorado

Open this Mexico,
the secret passage.

I make wind and water
low, so live like lizard's daughter

licking savagery.
Be silent kill.

A dragon curled into
a question.

Your wish means nothing
in the culdesac grave.

My guitar
played against our natural curve

like we would tilt the tidal
until this swimming

makes you fat with coins,
brimming liquid god.

You call the devil el macabre,
the tireless one.

Pour the liquid fire on the coals
and lean into longing, little one.

No gypsy whore
will make this man beg

like beaten burros
for water

or a spell
for an opening

into a city
of unspeakable treasures.


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