in the plaza, oaxaca, mexico.
sitting close, next to jorge, another dream. his mouth tasted like puerto rico, tasted like wood, like burning embers in the road, tasted like the south bronx. he said that it was not a usual site. the white owl, never in the trees, in the plaza. the white owl looked me dead in the eyes, for a long time, for what seemed like forever, then i watched him swoop down and pounce, grabbing the scurrying mouse, the owl was hungry and when you are hungry you do un usual things. you do unusual things, when you are happy, when you are sad, when you are desperate, when you believe the moment you are in.
i move on...to the boy who said he was the prodigy of God. he had a crooked penis, that all of the girls at school talked about. so i immediately walked toward him and stayed. he stayed left returned stayed left and returned and i was at his beck and call. another dream. i don't remember him tasting like anything but he was the first boy to bring me a tree for Christmas. a natural born tree not plastic like the trees we always had as kids. we...my brother and sisters. never green, sometimes white or blue, always plastic. during m time with the prodigal son of God, I had a moment. the last defining moment. it was a moment of eternal bleeding. i bled i bled and it wouldn't stop. the emergency room doctors came round, when it was my turn, rushed me into surgery, i didn't understand why...and that is a lie. i thought the ball of blood that dropped into the toilet bowl was a child never to be born. the stitches would disappear on their own. dissolve. it would be as if they were never there. They would live inside of me forever and i will have never seen them. an awful sentence, awful words to put together.
i end today as i started, distracted, distracted reliving remembering the two moments. two boys and things i remember today, to start. i don't feel like counting the words.
This is where i end.