borrowed torn paper everywhere,
bats and Barrio Libre alleycats
devouring unclaimed Apache blood.
scattered napkins littered with laundry lists
filled with meaningless biblical quotations
paraphrased by Custer-nosed beneficiaries.
this is a skin exchange nightclub talent show
where remarks get diagnosed by homeless assassins,
reviewing the same tired overdress pickups,
consulting the same fractured prisms
discarding any sustenance through weary windows.
borrowed torn paper nowhere,
bleating horns stitched together
into exploding piggybox balloon mirages
while dandruff throwing children remark:
“audiences should lighten up,
quit acting like skinlheaded headshrinkers”.
no backporch there on Cushing Street St. Louie.
no dogbreak city here in Tucson.
just a bunch of shoddy caucasian insurance guys
posing as blind coyotes
Tucson, 1988