March 2011: Ernesto

1.

Telephone.Gasoline.Insurance.Clothes. A lot of things, a lot of things

amor en todo eterno, con los ojos cerados,

Dig. Dit

ches.Get residency. Feel American. appearance doesn't say it.

the country would have confidence .[me]. getting residency shows that

some of [[me]] is American.

^------------^

desacher los estigmas,

los conceptos erroneos,

los conceptos torsidos

que son transmitidos por las apuestas de guerra y

por los conspiradores de clase

in one word =:= corruption

If you \\\talk///---they'll silence you --- click*

violence has always existed anywhere.

guilty or innocent. dead.

my thoughts=my heart=my life is cut up in two

this border keeps me ||

|| away......from my parents

.two lives. Separate. ||

.divi| |de me. .Children.

|| .Children.

there's gonna be a day

when I go to court and

[car hums, revs, whooshes by]

they're going to decide

whether I stay or .go.

I don't know how long

that is going to take.

ampliar microcosms, explotar sus paredes, extender por alma sinapsis. marginar no mas.

$20 mil-

lion spent over the last 10 years in the US on ...I'm illegal...

stay in the middle. Nothing.

fences, chains, patrol guards

--- another 139 million

to further upgrade technology and

strengthen border enforcement. “Repression increases and replaces

compassion.”

Modernization,

“economic progress”

and globalization, are major production machines of immigration

evocar una fuerza que transciende infinito

el material y lo momentáneo

illegal immigrants are now perceived as just bodies, dis-

posable labor entities, they become “human waste.” Look at me now. I'm on the streets, looking for work.

The times.

corralling us,

taking us away,

throwing us out.

could not be more timely given the current

“there are

always too many of

them.

I have to survive

apprehended and sent home

--lation, people who enter the country ille-

gally will be treated as felons to be deport-

I came on a train. I came to the frontier.

Brown

I am brown

I am daunting

I am native to this land

and I’ve got the legs to prove it.

I pound the earth with my fists

and it responds hungrily.

I murmur benign incantations in to the pores of a cactus

and it is disarmed.

I compliment a squirrel on its olfactory prowess

and it scurries off to confront the unfriendly ravens.

I embrace a dreary mesquite tree

and press my breasts to its trunk.

I lick the crevices in his fragrant bark skin

and he no longer mourns the fallen friend at his feet.

The dilapidated one

The one laying in pieces,

morbid and awkward.

The one like a dead soldier still reaching up for the sky,

maggots slurping up his eyeballs.

I wish to put him to rest, so I calm his limb

by forcing it down. My weight severs it from his body

and I lay it by his torso.

I snap off a finger,

toss it up like a lucky souvenir,

catching it every time with an upward flick of the wrist,

dancing like a conductor-

an open palm,

full of sound,

a closed fist,

containing all the power for just

one more punch of chord.

The finger crumbles in my hand

and I smear the ashen remains

on my sweaty neck so it makes a muddy trail from

the back of my ear down towards my right breast.

I pull my hair back.

I pull on my backpack straps.

I pull on the door of Juniper Hall.

I pull out a chair.

I wait for class to start.