Moon Over Tijuana
John Buchanan
[mettee@lemoorenet.com]
I said
I don't care
(at two in the morning
to the receptive alone
and, in particular,
no one)
because my eye is a
because;
the manifestation
of a must
the rising of rust
upon the
moon
whose light is always bent
just so
and set at 11%
and always looking out
from within my head
and always
sees
and
knows
and tastes different
than the sun
which is on sale
at Lucky's
right now
if you hurry,
(need a coupon)
and I don't give a crap
what you think
which is sort of a
lie
because
it is very high
out here
moondancing
and
I forget,
can't tell for sure
if it's real
even a little
and not
an
always dream
like:
just eyes
unshareable
because its lens is a
genetic misconfiguration
or even
one of those
tropical
boohoos where
the nose melts
and the ears fall
off
fat little stubs of fingers
unable to wrap themselves
around the hard blue
of the trigger
you know?
God knows
maybe I'm not here
at all
dead again
and the moon I see
is just the dim of a
60 watt
bulb
swaying
on a thin
noose
from the ceiling
in
some
Tijuana toilet.
Poem © 2001 John Buchanan, all rights reserved
appears here by permission
|
I have always loved writing, and have always written, I have
never submitted my work for publication, and thought it would be fun
to do so.
|
