17 ago. 2015



       How could you understand the humid tropic heat if you never have been here?

      It’s a beer heat I telling you folk, it dehydrates you; other people that already have been here, compared with Africa and others Arabic states, not as north, kind of heat dry & tolerable there; upon us pass the Ecuador hemisphere, I don’t know what the hell means, but it´s a scientific fact, time ago people used to go out with their beer coolers & stay at the riverside, but now even that as used to; nothing satisfices, is a living drown by your own sweat, the people whose endure death, hunger, injustice, impunity, the damn heat wave. 

        There was some bloody bruise under my nose but still continues being the same essence; the taco, the hunger, the beer as two leviathans loneliness, half cold, black horizon, bitter, oppressed, not empty as a half kiss, as half love. I drank the mescal of broken & bitter essence; the zenith sun, the damn phoenix that bring us luck, I light the tropical smoky, I ate with my dogs brothers, throwing them food wastes. Old toloques crest´s get some fresh from the mud riverside, bum lovers switch their crimson cheeks such dry ceiba; the ceiba it´s too old, I thought; maybe the first European sail through here & disabuse themselves by sawing those manatees weren’t sirens, I print myself a mud tear, I don’t know what it is but is it called heat, 42 degrees at the Grijalva river shadow, my perfume evaporates, I am rigid cannon fodder; fucking heat, no, no, is not from God, said the folk. God maybe stand about behind every door with his beer at hand, on air conditioner; I going with my caguamero pouch at shoulder, unwriting sheets ceiba barf; puppies those lick my sweat, they need salt, but I don’t have any sugar.

Original posted for #escritosengrito