Liberty in one of your wounds

Under the pressure of my dark

beating a blocked inspiration

from a lost hair

in your veins.

I throw myself into a red sea

that pulls me to your heart's port

where the deep roots

of infinite aquatic beards grow along the borders;

impossible to uproot my own.

I await my liberty in one of your wounds;

when you touch your skin

you flatten me

you free me

when you touch your hair

you think of me

when you cut your hair

you free me

when your heart beats

let me be the rhythm.

Movements of my words

Entombed.

You don’t feel them!

Though they’re over the same fire,

boiling over the same cauldron

the poems l live are water

and the ones I write, oil.

In the end and after,

both come to steam.

Steam my life

steam my intentions

to love you although

the entombed words

keep moving.

You don’t feel them!

at night

at day

Patience escapes me

after the collapsing ceiling of love.

Atop the magnitude of my telluric words

to live my final poems:

Kiss! Embrace! Fire!

and die my first poem: burning!

In the end and after we’re both smoke

You don’t feel them!

Smoke my life

smoke my intentions to love you.

No more patience for poems

with an appetite for your lips.

It must be lived.

No more inspiration for poems

akin to your soft hands

that give growth

to a feathered body.

Blood that cleans blood

for Juarez, Mexico

Ten bleeding fingers typing poems

without withering the keys

when energy dissipates

we appreciate the spilling ink of peace

pouring from the wounds of Juarez poetry

How many colors are needed

to paint your centurial anemia

we’re all universal donors AB+

to dehydrate violence

you must extract water from blood

cook it with concón 

hopefully!

Melt your grandparent’s cauldron

and with the liquified metal

forge a new one.

Outside you can hear

shouts of joy

in your left ear

while the right delights in the

Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Si Do of machine guns

Eyes!

Poems tired of being distant from your eyes

the day they arrive there, they’ll never return here,

like bullets reaching your soul

never returning to the barrel.

Blood cleans blood.

Today we baptize you, city of peace.