At Long Last, At Dusk
You disturbed the antelopes...
The river runs red, Tar Baby...
No it doesn't...
Stop being such a humiliator...
Screamed and cussed at lust and slush
and wanderlust, brushed hair
brushed aside green eyes, at long last
- - - At dusk, drinking from a rustic
plastic flask or a cup of rare,
musty and musky pesticide - - -
Where's my milk and rum?
I rest in a casket; I die
- trust me - Depressed, I cried;
the sky with my
silken thumb - - -
Where am I really from?
<><><> Blessed with pride,
eating pie crumbs
from the crest of this dumb
Ray Quesada's Other Poems
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