GOING HOME

The horsemen
Are eating radishes

I know the blood they spill
Fills many
Organic bottles

It makes me feel
Like selling my poems
To the highest bidder
And going back
To Mexico

Ezekiel’s bread
Has no preservatives
So it’s kept in the freezer

I can’t find
Kosher salt

The Codo Grande
Becomes a Codito

The market is burning
The fire department
Can not see
Invisible flames

I asked for rain
But instead
The impurities
Are being treated
With fire