Grew up in a sand castle
but never believed the ceiling would cave in.
Most days, I wish my spine was stronger,
my skin was thicker, the nights were longer.
I can see in the dark when I close my eyes
but I admit, I get nervous if I haven’t made plans for Friday.
The winds of fancy have never guided me
but neither has a compass.
Some nights, all I carry in my pockets are pesos
and dreams and stories and memories.
I got no time for regrets or stoplights
because life is a one-way street:
I try not to slow down.
I take refuge in the present,
but don’t resent the past.
The future, meanwhile, an afterthought.
I was raised to be a polite gentleman,
a safe driver, and a nice person.
But I’ve been given the middle finger
for holding a door, going the speed limit,
and saying “Good Morning.”
its precarious balance of mortality.
Don’t let me fall, but if I do,
replace your teeth with my shattered bones.
My marrow stills aches to taste you
and my skeleton needs time to chew things over.
Atoning for sins means getting lucky:
a rabbit’s foot, a four-leaf clover
because we don’t all earn our forgiveness.
We cannot each keep his equilibrium.
Sometimes there is no net below
and in the end, no applause.
Just falling, your lips, a tombstone.