The Concrete River

    We sink into the dust，

    Baba and me，

    Beneath brush of prickly leaves；

    Ivy strangling trees——singing

    Our last rites of locura.

    Homeboys. Worshipping God-fumes

    Out of spray cans.

    Our backs press up against

    A corrugated steel fence

    Along the dried banks

    Of a concrete river.

    Spray-painted outpourings

    On walls offer a chaos

    Of color for the eyes.

    Home for now. Hidden in weeds.

    Furnished with stained mattresses

    And plastic milk crates.

    Wood planks thrust into

    thick branches

    serve as roof.

    The door is a torn cloth curtain

    （knock before entering）。

    Home for now， sandwiched

    In between the maddening days.

    We aim spray into paper bags.

    Suckle them. Take deep breaths.

    An echo of steel-sounds grates the sky.

    Home for now. Along an urban-spawned

    Stream of muck， we gargle in

    The technicolor synthesized madness.

    This river， this concrete river，

    Becomes a steaming， bubbling

    Snake of water， pouring over

    Nightmares of wakefulness；

    Pouring out a rush of birds；

    A flow of clear liquid

    On a cloudless day.

    Not like the black oil stains we lie in，

    Not like the factory air engulfing us；

    Not this plastic death in a can.

    Sun rays dance on the surface.

    Gray fish fidget below the sheen.

    And us looking like Huckleberry Finns/

    Tom Sawyers， with stick fishing poles，

    As dew drips off low branches

    As if it were earth's breast milk.

    Oh， we should be novas of our born days.

    We should be scraping wet dirt

    with callused toes.

    We should be flowering petals

    playing ball.

    Soon water/fish/dew wane into

    A pulsating whiteness.

    I enter a tunnel of circles，

    Swimming to a glare of lights.

    Family and friends beckon me.

    I want to be there，

    In perpetual dreaming；

    In the din of exquisite screams.

    I want to know this mother-comfort

    Surging through me.

    I am a sliver of blazing ember

    entering a womb of brightness.

    I am a hovering spectre shedding

    scarred flesh.

    I am a clown sneaking out of a painted

    mouth in the sky.

    I am your son， amá， seeking

    the security of shadows，

    fleeing weary eyes

    bursting brown behind

    a sewing machine.

    I am your brother， the one you

    threw off rooftops， tore into

    with rage——the one you visited，

    a rag of a boy， lying

    in a hospital bed， ruptured.

    I am friend of books， prey of cops，

    lover of the barrio women

    selling hamburgers and tacos

    at the P&G Burger Stand.

    I welcome this heavy shroud.

    I want to be buried in it——

    To be sculptured marble

    In craftier hands.

    Soon an electrified hum sinks teeth

    Into brain——then claws

    Surround me， pull at me，

    Back to the dust， to the concrete river.

    Let me go！——to stay entangled

    In this mesh of barbed serenity！

    But over me is a face，

    Mouth breathing back life.

    I feel the gush of air，

    The pebbles and debris beneath me.

    "Give me the bag， man，" I slur.

    "No way！ You died， man，" Baba said.

    "You stopped breathing and died."

    "I have to go back！……you don't

    understand……"

    I try to get up， to reach the sky.

    Oh， for the lights——for this whore

    of a Sun，

    To blind me. To entice me to burn.

    Come back！ Let me swing in delight

    To the haunting knell，

    To pierce colors of virgin skies.

    Not here， along a concrete river，

    But there——licked by tongues of flame！