The Hotazel Review publishes my poem Bomblues in volume 3 of the journal, 2024.
let the buleador bull
eloquence
batter the night
the beat the drums
like innocence's a bastard
getting pounded on nighttime
radio talk shows
where people age with grief
in a wrinkled country
left to smell of camphor
and menthol senility
manspreading quicksilver sultry yet
steep
as the depth of withered faces
collapsed by doctrines
-expired due date shock
a slimmer view of paradise's lost in economies
the lacklustre times sunk hard
in the skin inglorious
teeth of hunger lost lands
delighted bomba
in the production
of time and oblivion
in sounds
of blues brambles barb-wiring the heart
on the loss of those who blacked out and melted
in infinity
and those who merely leave a country
that once tasted sweet as baked potato yams
spread the syrup of night licks
pigments from our skin milled in the trapiches
poems are harvested out of the loneliness
into cauldrons of light and anger and pain
Original post in the Hotazel Review.
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