Tuesday, October 13, 2009


My fingertips manipulated the messages
That would eventually show you the light
That would reflect in your eyes
That would make you aware

My steps lifted the dust for your path
Away from your direction
Away from your discretion
I made it clear
That you don’t need telescopes to see

The metallic sound was just protection
Insulation from lighting bolts
A sense of security
An illusion of defense

The police cruiser on the corner
Glittered with curious apprehension
I stepped on the gas pedal
As if my huarache sandal
Was pressing on your face

The rearview mirror
Speaks of the past as triumph
As miles per hour
In your escape
As the metric fall
Of your garrulity

I met my advisor on the road
While thinking of green oil
I bought him a drink
And stated my case for love

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