Multi-colored wallrock ranch housegrey, late 60's Buick circular drive yucca sprouting flowers In pictures, this is the house my father built placing one flat rock on top of another, around a wood frame. This was our house in Brownsville, a mile from the border town of Matamoros, Mexico. Stories of me climbing random rock wall of a reservoir in suburbia, 3 inch pipe and upper body the roof of every elementary, middle and high school in town. Rock thrown through windows on development lots, cut fences, long jumps off decks, waded creeks on a summer afternoon, as I reenacted my escape from suburbia. The gazing skyward over walls and saying, "What's on the other side?" What if I'd been born a few miles south, the smell of tamale and masa instead of coffee and sweetroll. The sound of Spanish and Ranchera, instead of English and Jazz. The slight hint of melanin in my skin, giving me a touch of brown instead of pink. Walls are meant to be climbed. Fences are meant to be...
Confessions of a Human Nerve Ending: Poet-Writer-Rhetor-Monologist- Photographer-Dudeist Priest