Reflections Of A Purple Stone

the desert searches for a wet spot
against a purple stone

a corner of the sun
has drawn blood

pebbles swallow the wind
to prolong your smile

I had run out of gas
but the revolution was at hand

mad windshield wipers
flicked cockroaches

the taco place
would not repent

the ax you wore
for a skirt

was driving me
insane

harvest moon shining
like demon Anglo faces in the night

I threw my jacket
into the darkness

until the sun’s two chocolate feet
rescued me

and my Mayan words
round as coins