Sabino Creek — Ash From The Bighorn Fire — Image by kenne
It happens that I get tired
of revolutionary cafes
and peacock poets
of narcissistic reflexives
and the songs of the deaf.
It happens that I am terrified
by this hardened generation
that rushes out in search of absolutes
fashions names and blasphemies,
doctrinizes on the pros and cons
of armed struggle,
and meditates, with a beer in its hand
and a sour cry on its lips
on the cadavers of others
Who are we?
Those same parishioners perhaps
who come and go indifferent
along the streets
on the Day of the Dead
with our hands full
of death’s-head cakes
and our hearts in ashes.
— from Day of the Dead In June by Lucha Corpi
heartbreaking