Train tracks lead to a place
in windswept wetlands
where abandoned homes
are more like ghosts with walls.
They make me think of
dead dreams deteriorating
under the scorching summer sun.
And just like those skeletal
structures sinking into the bay,
I could fade into the void of my
history much the same way.
A blue mud dauber cuts
…..through the pale air and interrupts
my burial. In the light, it takes
…..the shape of an iridescent eye
that never flinches in the wind.
…..Its body stands out against the brown
of the soil soaked in sun. It appears alien
…..in this environment with a wide
head and a thread-thin petiole.
…..Galaxies burn inside the pilot light
of its abdomen, and its metallic wings
…..activate more gray matter
than complex mathematical equations.
…..It buzzes in shades of black
and blue before the call of death.
…..It stays on the ground for a moment
and then flies away, taking with it
…..the ghost of my helix.
Coyotes of the West
He had a gift for turning
songs into prayers
and warm tears into honey.
Wherever he stepped the
soil seemed to turn bone-white
and the pastel horizon
would melt like crayons
left out in the heat of the sun.
With an appetite for
the girls with paper halos
and fairy-tale wishes, he watched
as they orbited around him like
Maybe his embrace felt like
shelter in the hollows of the desert.
In the valley of white rabbits
he studied Dale Carnegie texts.
And in prison he extracted
what he could from
the mouths of the pimps
until he had enough teeth
to devour the world.
© M. A. Rodriguez
M. A. Rodriguez is a Mexican-American poet based in the San Francisco Bay Area. His poetry has appeared in The Road Not Taken.