Big City, Little

Puerto Juarez

Insomniac in Puerto Juarez (Mexico)
Valery Oisteanu

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.