Tejano Cornfields

The Harvest Moon is my companion to the Lonestar.
I speak to her, as I did the night
Itzel and I made mad-dog love
and left alien swirls in the cornfield.

The Texas Tornados belted out Laredo Rose,
and we hee-hawed like motherfuckers.
I said, "The moon is giddy-eyed."
She laughed till she peed her pants --
maybe it was the tequila.

The Ghost had no authority over me.
The crooked angel ascended,
nameless inspiration,
nameless fuck

-- I confess --

Itzel’s salty tongue had dominion
over my cherry-blossom heart.
It wasn’t God, nor love of church
designed my crown that night
-- no such notion.

My name glorious and profound in her breath,
in the ruckus of the wind,
in the sacred place at sundown
where stars are confetti.
And you -- you giddy-eyed bitch --
lit us up in living light.
Ha!
Ha!
Moonlight voyeur.

But what the hell am I doing here,

a John Deere, a rusted plow, a collapsed barn,
a chicken-coop, a crumbling six room barrack,
a collapsing 5x10x10 storm-cellar.

What the hell am I doing here,
a whirling, twirling dust devil.

What the hell am I doing here,
mi corazón,
the Texas Tornados crooning, My Cruel Pain,
and skeletons rattling in the cornfields.