Big City, Little Puerto Juarez Insomniac in Puerto Juarez (Mexico)
The storm is gathering in the Caribbean Sea Albatrosses flying low to Florida Pelicans are also flocking northeast I haven't slept for seventeen nights and days The plumed serpent with his cock erected, covered with feathers Sends winds of incomprehensible power That shifts the beach, the sand, the iguanas I should pay tribute now to Arthur Craven The poet-pugilist who pioneered the art critique of avant garde Disappearing into the thin waters of the Gulf of Mexico I should pay homage also to Hart Crane The quintessential Greenwich Village poet That became invisible like a Mexican morning mist Vanishing without a trace off a boat In the same place Their souls will inhabit the frigate birds D. H. Lawrence walked along this beach Scribbling in a notebook His ghost is braving the storm Bells are ringing on the decks of abandoned boats In the Marina Hacienda del Mar on the way to Punta Sam Here the ancient Mayans started their trip to Isla Mujeres Where are the Mayan's now? In the black hole of civilization? In the Cancun triangle of tourism? Leaving behind magnificent temples in the jungle Antonin Artaud traveled through this jungle drinking peyote tea His spirit still swims with the children of the sun His footsteps are still visible on the beach The waves are leaving behind dunes of algae and shells And the sadness of the symphony of the wind The gusts are blasting with excruciating blows Slamming the air against the palm trees The Mayan goddess of love is embraced by the lover Time I will bang my head on the altar of dreams Let me sleep, just one night Let me dream, just five hours Let me rest, in a hypno-trance Full of magic night visions Awakened reality is a nightmare aging my brain too fast Let me sleep The imagination station is just ahead. |