racism is alive and well

can you laugh about this tragedy

can we come back to the table

and listen to tall the layers underneath

that are not being spoken

there are clowns across the world

can we hire them to break the poison


there is a face individual

faces on the sun drying

without the water or food

to migrate across the sky

looking for the place

where home begins again


it was always somebody else’s land

its will always be somebody else’s land

its not theirs or ours. it belongs to the children’s

chlldren’s childrens . and even they know

it doesn’t belong to them


we are the waking shadow of permission

trying to find root in this battle for life

across borders across land

trying to find the investment

of finding home finding place


we didn’t want to cross the border

despite the imagination despite the hearsay

despite what might become a problem

we didn’t want to be a part of the american nightmare


these streets are not paved with gold

these streets are not paved with all those opportunities

but there are ghosts and shadows haunting the other side

of the border. from this side of the border


border tongue. where does my education become

the song of the people . where does this song

become the sound of tonantzin underneath

looking back into the belly of quetzalcoatl




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