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.