El Jimador

The sobriquet of animal nature
came storming down to awaken me
on a cold evening in December.

The Virgin Mary was born and
the olympic runners carried her flames
without their bodies to a new pavilion.

It felt like the sojourn was not at an end
when too many voices from Barton Fink
were marauding me with arrows.

Black diamond stairs sucked me into a fan cooled cave
and I could not be there and walked out for a tattoo.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s