Thursday, August 02, 2007

H. Peers into The Mirror of Tezcatlipoca

I have my dogs, my companions
every time I draw down the slope
of a line that leads to the smoke
chamber--I see the future unfold,
untrue lies spreading like delicate foil.
Then there’s the oil I put in the tank--
the deserts I kill and the thick
groves of cottonwood I depict
where none had been before,
make my gift seem seldom and sick
with abuse: how else to write tomes but while
tanked, if only to fool the older fools
that you’re good at what you do. You’re
good at what you do.


Jeff said...

Hey! Glad to see a post after a summer hiatus and hope you are well. I was reading a bunch this summer, and was wondering if you ever published Variations on a Dream Sequence by Guadalupe Trujillo. I thought that was a really strong piece. Lots of good stuff to enjoy here on your blog, too. Enjoy the last few weeks of summer before school starts up again!


Justin said...

I dig.