[n] from Mexico 2009
by Edward Wells II
copyright 2011
Edward Wells II
Smashwords Edition
and then I decided to read a book
It might have been something delicate:
I'm slightly terrified that Mexico loves Me
Betty give Me fine sand for my veins
Some works that appear in this book have been published before:
Calabaza Negra
published in Heavy Bear
http://www.heavybear.janecrown.com/
Mexico 2009
published in The Bicycle Review
http://www.thebicyclereview.net/
Setting
the rooster
published in Sugar Mule
http://www.sugarmule.com/
Thread Bought Still
published in decomP
http://www.decompmagazine.com/
Setting
the rooster
published in Fragile Arts Quarterly
http://fragilearts.tumblr.com/
[Untitled: nouns and unnouns]
published in:
This Great Society is Going Smash
http://www.thisgreatsociety.com/
Otis Nebula
http://www.otisnebula.com/
Down in the Dirt Magazine
http://scars.tv/
thank You to each individual that helps make this possible
[n]
The river stopped being a river before She began to be.
It is a thick lush green. I muse '...walking on...'.
I'm told that when it rains for three days or more the water flows
in the river. There is a rainy season here, and three days is said as though
it isn't a lot. This year is different though, warmer and perhaps dryer.
Life is different here: the thick solid green river;
for fifteen cents I can get a stack of tortillas to last the day (fresh, warm);
if I get my advance tomorrow, I will secure my place (one of two I have selected).
I look at the breads, the people, the buildings, the sky, and I try to see the
culture, the collective, the past, the consciousness.
I see more individuals. I see individuals, like I did in The United States, like I did
in New Zealand. I can see the shaping that a construct creates.
Un vaso de Río. I see the differences that a construct distinguishes.
Un Río que establece.
We speak in class breaking structures and words, passing something back and forth. I
might say that I understand no one here, or that I understand well for lack of a common
language. In no time the River has run its course. The rains will likely return and push
it away; down; down south of Federal No. 57 at La Cruz, Lomo de Toro; down to nothing, or perhaps underground and further
south, south of Pasa de Mata, again perhaps to nothing.
We are accumulating a way of understanding.
is the grainiest you might want to attempt
- the monochrome of the eighties You might recall
the pixels of CGA
the '0's' and '1's' of today
the plate lunch justice to go
the circular box of the cheese wheel
- the self-box of the French baguette
the flesh
our nations
this world
the nowhere box of nothing, where the message went just before I,
the moment I, after I
typed these letters, words, lines
the what of the who
like the Story of Seth
or the Story by Seth
in the book-box
read like this, and this, like that other Story by Seth
in the poem-box
and then one day, We have decided to open the boxes
peel back layers
find the inside-ness that is inside each
taste it in the air, and see it in the sound that comes out
the gentlest ways, the subtlest, the kindest only
will do now
(I intentionally did not mention the metal boxes on wheels that sat at the intersection after kissing with a force too great as I walked home tonight.)
Dark, magical,
rich, pudding growing inside a gourd.
It's absurd-it's Mexico.
A young male holding on to the side of a pick-up
as it circles a park-"Yo tengo vida!".