snidely
   the hell that forms
on a riverbed barren
the hands of the barrow maker
now shackled
 for war
has come

the junkie sits by his window
and dreams
of coca cola
 and the sound
of not moving

the foment has
unearthed;
lo behold this
land
our solicitation
in non cadence
and unmeasured
steps

our shoes are new
but our souls are dead

Arnold Ysipro  Tecate wars poet 1986-2020