Visions Of A Far Away Mexico

Lions who are alive in an apiary of
Sadomasochism worshiping the sunlight as
The very same tourists watch them
Again and again—
Very strange and vulgar zoetrope,
Like a washing machine around some
Lazy planet—
The words get muddled and seem to
Bend around the horizon:
The very atmosphere of this gravity
Pressing down airplanes until
They are condensed into the semiprecious
Metal of a tourist’s trinket—
And into the places where I kissed your
Mouth once or twice until the very last time—
Seen before the hillside where all of your
Ancestors are laid low—
As the horses keep on stamping the
Arrowheads—and the read cliffs arise—
The frontera—where skeletons stalk,
Visions of a far away Mexico.