MIDPOINT
The thin, feathery blue
egg-shell curtains gently tossing,
the tin smile
of the roof armada
its metal armour flashing
to inch their shingle way
into escalade-escadrille formation
and leathery sky.
[45]
TWINKLING OF AN EYE
On twin tails of a comet
penguin men polka dot
the night------
waddle white suits
past pale the white Empress Night,
flickering graveyard stars
---a pitcher of inky black
upended in a choir and manger
II.
Lowing of the clouds
lowering overhead like bombardiers
rifling the Firmament,
black braying back.
III.
Millpond, satin and creamy,
then buttercup crush of waves
[46]
SERENADE
A green flotilla,
verdant armada
stone hand encased
in an arm of ocean
off blue-grotto bay.
Something avuncular where land
meets sea
--underdog, whipped cur,
adult "son" posturing to the elder,
pontificating man.
Melaque after dark
or was it Aguascalientes'?
Monterrey at sunset
prior to "the" pop festival
or Morelia, on eve
of feasts to that native patriot'?
Vera Cruz, 1915, at the height of
American occupation
with Pershing tailing the hirsute Pancho
Villa in Sinaloa
outdated rock & gunboat diplomacy
--no longer exotic fare
plate of frivoles,
fried banana
Mahi-Mahi.
On the palette,
dreams are fickle,
subject to "drunk
and disorderly resisting
arrest," outmoded and
fuzzy with age.
Policeman of the Olmec intellect,
you dance late on feather boas
this Mariachis of the soul
with glittering purse and yellow,
travelling nectar Tequila.
[47]