Monday, January 12, 2015

For a Mexican Girl in the Ox Blood Doc Martins

Red balloon, she holds a red balloon by a thread standing there
Not the world that revolves around her, it's the wind blowing every inch of hair
Swirling cartoon dress of rocket ships, lipstick, machine guns and alphabets

Blocking blistery sun rays from the eyes sets upon a miracle bird circulating
Love letter tucked at the beak disciplined resting it at her feet, ox blood docs
Bending over she pics it up, scent of ancient leaves, crisp, sharp at the finger

What is this masquerade, what fortune had she found, is this love descending
From what heavens fall, faith should find her standing at a bus stop laughing
Roads bending sidewinding avenues where couples, acrobats, sachet, curtsy

Magritte, I say this to you, for every one of these men they possess a girl
In their blazers and bowler hats rain on green gardens with black umbrellas
Bring flowers from bodegas to the Mexican girl in the ox blood doc martins

Of what words do you say, of what credit must she pay, love knows no tax
As she splits open the envelope, she dreams of countries close and far
Will fortune find her basking on a beach, catching caterpillars behind kiosks

Or is it lessons she will learn, sow seeds, build a tower with possible hands
A glove she will wear, velvet, cabaret dress, lounging at the after hours
Kissing in back of taxis, walking one bridge to another on a moonlit night

Tell it to the future for what she heard was music, to follow a lovely sound
Amazing to the ear, set her circling, freeing her self of the red balloon
Sending it high above the sky, a gift he will receive, for a gift begets another

Why then worry about the moisture in the air, if polluted or drenched with soot
She carries with her the letter she breathes from, pastes it on her cheeks
Adrift amidst revelers, home bound, a glass of wine, scent of a lover, unseen

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