You will cross the border
into the beyond
passport for death
steel and mineral visa
no need to let go...
Tacos with all the sauces,amigo !
El Paso sombrero ,
San Isidro narco ...
In the night that begins
deguelo for a macabee buzz
mariachis,lethal orchestra ...
Emotionless killers in motion,
a heaven of tabasco on the walls ,
dealer shot dead, chick raped ,
a migrant leaving on the lights of freedom ...
Dude,the border ends into an abbyss of peace,
you'll be eaten by a big jaw in search of a mcdo ,
or deal in the desert for a few dollars lost ...
You see ,democracy leaves you the choice
you'll even get a cross ,viva la muerte !
permanent resident of California ,
never again from Nicaragua !
Tequila and coca ,Tjuana brothel, bro,
nothing stops progress ,soon
gas chambers will be reactivated !
Santa Muerte ...
-
Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 20th, 2024 11:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 20
- User favorite of this poem: Bella Shepard.
Offline)
Comments4
You describe a dilemma expats can relate too...
You cross a border between death and return to death .
The harsh reality...
Poetry isn't about admiring our little pink buttocks in the mirror of our sobs !
The saddest day in our long history of existence, is the day we decided we owned everything, and we could judge everyone. The shame is on us. Great write my friend, it digs deep into our illusion of ownership.
Sometime poetic art testifies to perfect egotic mastery ,where the world is defined only by our delicious little sufferings !
Too many allusions I can't quite get to grips with, but get the general tenor.
Enjoyed muchly your comment:
" Poetry isn't about admiring our little pink buttocks in the mirror of our sobs !"
Not my pink buttocks either.
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