No one is looking out for the spirit anymore.
Left without any protection.
Nobody dares.
Nobody cares. Nobody’s there.
The clouded mind does not see,
In the fog.
We know too much.
We were all in the same place once.
In the temple, in the maze in, at the gate.
In the garden.
Out of what place do flowers come? No one believes.
Not after a glass of wine,
A margarita, a dry martini, double, with a chaser.
A brownie. Snow.
Who is screeching?
Over the weathered gray fence and the garden wall.
In the light.
Speaking to unstable shadows.
Rose buds. Mother of God.
Don’t drop your guard.
Take me home.
The Devil is a merry man.
The fire never goes out.
An instinct for destruction.
Don’t forget about me.

V. Castellanos August 2021

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