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3am in Mexico |
I cannot sleep when there is this
Smell of bonfires burning,
And the overwrought male voice of a heart,
Broken singer coming from some stereo.
I cannot sleep when the Catholic spires are trapped
In a darkness they cannot deny, do not.
Blue neon crosses touch the stars.
Cars bump down the street.
Cathy sleeps, Penelope with
Teething fever sleeps
Restless, a train yells.
Does a bird scream, surely, somewhere?
Johnny Future talks in his sleep
In my head. Will I ever like him?
My wife sleeps, sleepily, sighs, tries
To keep sleep asleep, tries.
I wonder: Is this the beginning
Of my adult life, right now, thinking
About masturbating, watching Mexican
MTV, waiting for a Beck video beside
The stars, and old men with microphones.
A man walks down a wet sidewalk.
The thin streets, walls hunching in,
Bending everything toward a light,
Then an open door, where people
Eat tacos and drink Cokes
And then the street
Moves on, carrying a girl,
Just a kid, across the cobbles
And up the stairs, to somewhere.
I couldn’t tell you where
'Cause I don’t know.
A siren chirps.
I am awake and the world is somewhere.
The walls are blue.
There are airplanes in the sky, somewhere,
Too, with the world.
I believe in sunrise.
I believe in my dreams.
I want to say this is beautiful,
But I am too tired to say that, really,
And the train will wake the baby,
I’m afraid.
I don’t know how to end this thing.
I didn’t even know I had started.
War is on T.V.
War makes bricks.
Bricks make walls
And that is what I
am really saying.
I cannot sleep when the revelers are loud
Walking drunk ass grabbing dog barking
Giggles down the sparkly street.
Good night say the bombs of love.
Good night say the birds of crime.
Good night say the fires of dreams
Unlived in the forest of my mind.
Good night Good night
Says the sunrise.
copyright 2004
Steve
Abee |
