In the old days, we used to make long journeys across desperate terrains. We would bundle our dreams upon our backs and put one foot in front of the other as we made our way through landscapes that threatened our every move. We knew very little except that we did not want to be where we once were, and that we were sure there was somewhere else we wanted to be, if we could but get through this place of dangerous passage. Surrounded by Indians, we pressed on.

Now don’t get all flustered about my use of the word “Indians.” I got it on very strong, heard it from a white guy who heard it from a white guy who heard it from a white guy who wrote it in a book before the age of fact-checking hearsay that what Columbus really meant was “una gente in Dios,” or the people in God and that “in Dios” eventually became “Indians.” So that it is actually a really beautiful name for a people. Oh wait, I just googled that urban legend and it turns out to be bullshit. So much for beauty. Surrounded by white colonialists and historical revisionists, we pressed on.

And so here is where we got. All that talk of Dios pushed us from coast to coast, leaving fields of bloody self-entitlement in our wake and a deep lineage of coverups and self-denying bypass that leave everyone at least a little fucked up in the head and more than a few of us shit out of luck when it comes to knowing where we come from.

Myself, I was born in a stolen land, by the side of a beautiful river where it becomes one with another river and they carry on like they were never two. Well, I would say it is beautiful, inspiring a way forward even, and that it gives me a sense of belonging to somewhere, but we already established that beauty only comes from lies and that belonging is not something we are entitled to since our forefathers took it from everyone else. Surrounded by rapists, we pressed on.

So this is what we get. A mess of a situation filled with resentment and pain. I got more than enough good intention to convince myself I am one of the good guys, but when you pull the curtains of social order aside I am just another low ranking white devil, trying to make my way through this hell realm we call capitalism and only having a decent life because of the privilege my skin, my balls, and my location give me. It certainly isn’t of my own doing that anything good is coming of it.

But it could be. Surrounded by honesty, maturity, and possibility, we press the fuck on.

I’ve never been a virgin   running like blood
down my pointer and middle finger
down the palm of my hand   down my wrist
threading scarlet trails through life line
popping like a gun between teeth
milking my jaw   crackling in my ears
squirting like cum   down my throat
across my tongue   over my lips
pausing 
at the sides of my mouth   onto my chin
then wiped with the back of my hand
I skip 
skipping feels cool   to my spots
favorite hangs in the park   swinging on swings
I like to get high   braced in tunnels
I like drugs    I’m not here for them
now is the time for the ritual
sucking on the fruit of the dead
on the life giving seeds   like a zombie reborn
offering it to others   like a sprung virgin
having faith   like a holy mystery
our lady of pomegranate
holding it like a crown
of abundance   of fertility   of good fortune
a mystical experience really 
on paintings and coins
in lovers dreams and attractive words
the decadence of kernel
rolling between my fingers   snapping off bites
scraping them through my teeth
then going in like a vampire for a deep plunge
popping them like a jack in the box
some people are intimidated by them
some people don’t eat the seeds
some people don’t know what’s good for them
childhood   comfort   rebellion   sexy   offering
​communing   sacrificing   indulging   meat
I’ve never been a virgin
my blood runs cold   
my legs spread open   
my eyes closed
I place another seed in my mouth 
and feel it grow