Diego Enrique Flores, San Antonio, 2009 (digital)

Damn we die.
I’m a few blocks from the biblical cemetery.

 White doors open. 

The water is warm
with quiet vagueness.

I carry a secret morality,
a homemade cosmology
in notebooks.

Compassion is a dirty word.

I’m more curious about
planting myself
& not being bored wet. 

My thoughts are movies
passing the graveyard’s vapid flowers.

When it’s dark in the morning
I approach with desperate eyes.

Before I reach the tiny market
I’m tearing packages apart.

There’s no need
for actual touch
on islands in the city.

I trust mostly mystery
& subtle beliefs,

the brown river & selfish escape.


Terrell Jamal Terry