In Exile

I am pieces of a person

Who has been exiled by a decree passed down through myself.

Where distance is cut across by oceans and chasms that are the wingspan

Of several lives lived.

You ask if there’s a way back

I say why in the hell would I do that to me

And to you

There is no back

There is eternally the holiness of now

And the smelly demon friends I’ve carried with me here

It is the holy now

And the sins stacked on its termite infested back

Exile I see is never a choice

It is a consequence

Or so Bolano tells me

But my country, my cuba, my shining distant star

That is where all things failed

I left her naked and to her own accord

She swallowed fascism

And washed it down with a can reading democracy

And things may be better

Hell they probably are

But on video you look the same to me

No different, no lesser, no more content

You say “whatever” staring into a mirror and with a cheap 40 in hand

Gallop into a room with famous henchmen

As I chart a course to the next land to fight for.

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