Mind Core

It considers those men that ambled &

Flushed their swords & cut off the neck

Of the blue horses & scraped off death

Dust from the carcass — rape of women

Tresses in boilers — the tin-colored animals

On the viridian grasses in particular the

Howler Monkey let the word shoot up

To the spheres — later we charged our

Blood with these accounts we hid the arms

Unforgiving texts & designs sewn into

Our tiny alabaster lockets. We visited

The last ridge where Victor Jara

Denounced the paramilitary — from

La Obrera in the heights of  Tijuana we

Sketched the reddish moon & scratched

Poems those things that could carry

The letters we hauled on our backs.

We were separated from something we

Could not describe yet we were in

The totality in the long winding turquoise

That broke us & put us back together

Again. What was that totality? It could

Not be written — Green moon, green blood — 

We wrote. We marched to the ends of

Lacanjá Chansayab & the heights

Of El Colorín Central México. We were too

Late — the waters in which people bathed

Were cloudy & malignant — bellies

Bloated children leaned on the twig

House women stood up some sat cross-

Legged under the fire rays of noon — 

We knew they knew the rubble land

Was not theirs or ours it was stuffed into

The cigarette packs of the Ladino

Hacendados who kicked up their short

Boots in the City of Bones below.

With our faces in new faces we rolled

Back to LA. Do you change it? Do you

Leave it the same?

Words — what are they?

A new cognition was required — then

With the ecstasy of the unleashed

Other things pulled us apart. Other things

Reassembled us.

Now we are here.