Sunday, November 08, 2009

Ovals






i.
We creep up softly to the monte obscured by
Flores Street and freeways.


Urban comets whiz above.  Taillights 
and the spectacle of a Tower watching out 


for us.  






ii.
I could change shit for you.


Stay.  Dig the meaty parts of your calves 
Into my shoulder blades.  Sigh.  


Press your feet into my throat.  I could make
Ovals in the sod.  Endlessly.  Irrevocable


impressions, tattoos and toes.






iii.
I could make it so that you’re the only one.
Could conjure an arroyo to make mud that


will mask our tire troughs and raise the
earth-scent.  The 10 has torn hapless gaps 


into this photograph: 


atop my bike, this colchón and my
Southside longing.

2 comments:

sanmino said...

firme poem ey!

Raquel Gutierrez said...

CUANDO VIENES A LOS ANGELES!?