Mauricio’s Cab: Track 1

Feeling the need for a scene with more interesting neon.
Luminous gas patterns I can’t decipher; mystery glow
legends of a city I haven’t yet met with its sewer-deep
stories behind night market glances at a stranger,
weary-ridden by Lonely
with her willow tree hair,
tequila whispers
and empty kisses.

Needing the feel of a scene with asphalt warmer
than where I can’t recall the last time I saw the streets
breathe, but wind leaves my lungs white and congee thick.

“There’s no neon in the desert. You’re talking crazier
than the last time I gave you a ride.”

“I’m sober tonight, Mauricio. Can we hear
‘I Started a Joke’ again?”

2 comments

  1. Your headshot
    looks like a life
    i dreamed about
    back in the fifties
    i would expect
    Your hand
    to be loosely holding
    a long skinny cigarette
    thin tendrils
    of slowly wafting
    gray smoke
    carrying a smell
    that would remind
    the knowledgeable
    of Jamaica
    and
    the reason
    for the sunglasses

    Does everybody wonder
    if they
    were born too early
    or
    too late?

    i am almost positive
    i never heard
    of a cab driver
    named Mauricio before…

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