Managua

A poem inspired by Denis Johnson's novel: The Stars at Noon.

"Viva Reagan-Muerto"
We have seen your kind,
crouching atop shadowy borders
where the strays bark, run wild.

Your sweat stings, acid venom.
The sun piercing vision blind.
We fatefully desire dimensions
when surreal clouds take all forms.

Managua,
applied culture ministry,
in a sedan riding the mountainside
highway, Contras exchange bullets.

Behind the barricados
Sandinistas plan a surprise,
a blood speckled windshield
beneath the sunrise.

The slightest move will be your
death. What black market Cordoba
can offer the faintest sanctuary.
In life, in trade, everyone pays.

We will never become clean with rain
from a dark cloud. Throngs of dispossessed,
bred by ravenous wolves, live
with silence, they are of the earth.

Graffiti truth burns psyche,
There are no borders or dimensions
to what awaits. No dirt paths will
lead you safely from the gate.