Mexico City’s Waste Mountain Grows




Invisible revenge.

under your wing a long spear and a concubine.

Flourish in stagnant garbage, ringworms, heartening.

Shine above, alone, recoil, two fine fellows, musical.

I kill you. The hour is ours. I will eat your brain

To gain those ideas you formerly owned. It is mine little

King,               courtesy in black ears, they are my ears.

I will go about in your business                      propriety.

Haranguing, open, splendid, sounds vibrate in extremes.

I envy my own suffering martyrdoms as visions of evil.

I mercy, commit. Doubt as doubt paradoxes mastery.









La Santa Muerte, the Saint of Death




Fumbling for love, we let them die.

The denouement, the corruption

The graft, greed and betrayals

The bribes, the appetites

ultimately suicide.


Sacrifice and laying bare,

drained and resigned, the spectacle

The humiliating defeat, the mumbling

unintelligibly and all that sobbing,

these are complex decisions.

Their garish mansion,

the five count indictment,

the scheme, the bribery,

20 years in prison.


Those uncovered e-mails,

the regulated agreements,

extraordinary expressions,


the lives of people close to them

who passed away this year. Love.






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