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Smiling Death Songs and Other Poems
ii.  the sky is lit with dead stars 
     (bread of the dead) ...

An open fire, 
family and friends, 
lick of lemon-salt, 
shot of tequila, 
laughter and music, 
and la guitarra 
to pierce the night. 

The sky is lit with dead stars, 
drifting on blue waves -- 
flames on a journey 
to the golden dawn. 
My gaze beyond the clouds, 
beyond the moon, 
beyond Alpha Centauri, 
beyond the zillion eyes of God
beyond
beyond.

If only I could break the surface, 
inhale the endless mysteries, 
inhale you, my dark-haired, 
green-eyed puta, 
dwelling in the Azteca State 
with your zenpasuchitl 
and your pan de muertos 
for a soul that ate your heart 
and now devours mine. 

I will not lie -- 
what I find lovely is 
your Asian eyes, 
your slanted forehead, 
your high cheekbones, 
your Mexica nose, 
your Toltec lips, 
and when you say, 
Mi gran poeta, 
I am the rib of your soul, 
you are the flame 
of my tongue. 

Believe, I am well 
with an open fire, 
family and friends 
lick of lemon-salt, 
shot of tequila, 
and pan de muertos -- 


but, for good fortune, 
I will wear a calaca for you 
and play la guitarra 
to still the night 
and pierce your heart.

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