We are dying to live, who know nothing
or too little of love
or its contingent frequencies,
jealousy, betrayal, and cruelty . . .
chile rellenos y sopapillas y cerveza,
Pacifico si, Tecate no,
in the see-through-to the garden patio,
going back to where he would be
if he were where he was born,
where so many growl and spit:
Come home, Orphee, Persephone loves you.
(23 October 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander