My dreaming (a poem about Juarez, which i really do dream about)
Dumpster diving
with dead leaf hands
Alley ways
and new homeless friends
extend and greet
those I don't know
boulder knuckles
contained in hand shakes
They wonder how
my eyes are so bright
I still stare at
skin so even dark
dried up under feet
a river so low
people shuffle
cars rumble
mountain viewing
all of the days
and in come the nights
driving broken streets
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