All the journals I can find are out on the table. Photos are from our trip to Mexico in 2009 and New Mexico in August 2002. The other night I finished a bottle of Mezcal Joven. Joven = young. I was young when I wrote the following:
“1/25/1989
The Mezcal Tastes Like Smoke
The Mezcal tastes
like smoke
from a fire
age old
In twilit suburban drear
serve
salt
for the wound
( and to bless the house )
lemon citron yellow
American
rainy season
Gift of life
falls from the sky
laced with cyanide
Lilac blooms
but its arduous aroma of
amour
amour
no longer pervades
the air of May
noise of tred
on wet asphalt
whines and hisses
like an asp
coiled in rock below
poised to strike a fatal blow
like fine wine
spiked with unleaded
gasoline
electric flame
rises High into the night
Neon and Argon
Silver and Gold
Flesh undulates
forth and back
muscle tenses
in attack
grabbed
by the throat
blood
of goats
The Mezcal tastes like smoke"
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