we are the memory dancing in tonantzin

we are the nobody buried nameless underneath the frontera

we are the thirsty drowning place on turtle island

we are the sun people no one will forget

despite nafta, narco politics, coca cola or all other monsanto

derivatives. we are the wayward luna. dancing.

opening the ghost of climate change before it was called climate change

we are the metaphor sinking into the bottom portion of a mexican american

water gulf water. and all the amnesia still plaguing us.

we are the sentiment sinking into the side of lowriders

still trying to find a set of wings given to them by quetzalcoatl

maybe then they can lowride. cruise control. play the rolas.

and cross the frontera invisible with serpent wings.