GROWING THORNS & DUST.

A DISTANT CORPSE OF A MAN

i don't see him anymore, at least not his
eyes, not the wrinkles on his face,
not the sound of his voice, the
hoarse, tired tone in his talk, like life has
wore him out and not himself. he just
looks at me across the table. he is a
black shadow, the edges of his clothing
move with a wind that doesn't blow, he
morphs into his thoughts and and i have
to remind of him of where he is, of where
he must be but he said that the latter can
never be known. to be where he was,
was the curse of a god he couldn't name.
so I asked him where he was, maybe i
could visit him there, maybe i could call
him back from there, bring him back
to the soil he was born- on the cradle
bed his mother once kept him in or the
time he nuzzled his face between the
breasts of the woman he loved- but from
his mouth poured out something vile,
something that hurt the corners of my
fingers as i pushed it back into his throat-
his heart in shreds and pieces, mixed
with gore and mucus falling out of his
bleeding mouth. he muttered where he
was at so that i could go in search of
him, for the man seated in front of me
was now nothing but a distant corpse
of a man who had forgotten himself long
time ago.

"i'm wandering at the edge of the ocean,
mi hija, find me so i won't be lost
anymore,"