Gusano Rojo

Gusano Rojo

It calls again asking for an attorney.
Since when did the wind
need money to blow, or leaves forget to fall.
The wheel spins
instead of earth, and she was only burrowed
to transgress an other's freedom
then tossed in the trunk
beside what's left -
of last night's tequila.

Bits of madness
leak from the book shelf.
The characters escape
on tiny ropes and hooks
planted in a cherry wood desk
once prized and shined with Pledge,
now bows beneath the pressure
of yet - another life story.
The mechanic is over booked;
the wheel of time rusted.

Her's - was only a worm
floating at the bottom
of a bottle of mezcal, an artifact
thrown into the sea
uncovered now and then by currents.
Unable to speak until ingested
and it is them - again
again - again;
the current settles.
She wriggles just below the surface,
a red, gusano rojo
and the mermaids laugh.

The sailors bait their hook
cast into a rojo sun,
and Melville wonders - who?
has set a hook in Moby Dick.
"Gusano Rojo, Gusano Rojo,"
they shout from the deck,
the wind disrupted once more.
They reel fury and fiery breath
in the hot summer sun,
mad with the voice of the worm.
"Gusano Rojo, Guasano Rojo..."
and the current settles.

8/9/2010