, , ,

If you were in the court room

and the judge decided to send you

away to alcatraz, I would swim a thousand seas

to watch the birdz swoop at your head, at the

chrome around your wrists, so

the men will run around you

and point their steel in the


“For we aren’t the future and

we aren’t the past, but where we

exist is in the time and space

made room for by the

queztacoatal, the god of zapatists, the

savior of the sonora”