should I learn Spanish? I mean better than I ever have
should I grow my hair long and learn to play the banjo 
and ditch this cowboy hat
and splinter into the dustbowl sadness of yesteryear
carrying my torch 
with no one else around? 
I have these thoughts, this music, this gangrene sadness
that must be stomped out 
forever

don’t come looking for me
I can hear my belly growl 
don’t side with the devil, don’t ditch me in the dirt

I want to cross your mountains 
I want to live in your palaces 
I want to hear the sounds of your streets in the summertime

I don’t want any more American pop music 
and I sure as shit don’t want to dwell 
in the backwaters of Oklahoma—they stole some people’s land
and made it into a miracle, so they say

but they’ve never seen 
or witnessed 
the strands of hair
of a beautiful woman down South—and I mean
further
than they’ve ever been
willing
to
go

I mean white beach blonde bitches 
with sass
in those United States
lurching for love
or a diaper
or a stovetop kitchen
somewhere, anywhere
where they
don’t belong 

that’s where I wanta go
I wanna surf
in the devil’s backyard—but I don’t want to get kidnapped 

so come up North
follow me
home
I’ll tell you how to build
a treehouse
I’ll show you golf swings in the burdensome limelight
I’ll bring you tacos and bullhorns
and you can tag along
to stadiums
where there isn’t any dust—just the endless chanting and cheering and drunkenness
of the world above

take me
to Mexico
or I’ll go there
alone

drive me out
wait for the bullpen
to warm up
we’ll be throwing fastballs
and curves, I wanna know which way to go—up
down

leave me
standing
there
waiting for
something
real

I’ll be in the street
in the darkness
of the cool, calm night 
do they let screenwriters turn pages into movies down there?
I’ll hide somewhere in the hills, nobody will know my
name, ah 

I like it that way
Mexico
tequila
lovers enchanted
or cities filled with crime
much like the USA

I will taunt nothing and nobody
they will not hunt me down
I only want to praise your streets in the sunlight

I’ll write a poem
dedicated to you
and your beauty
please call me
Romeo
that always

makes me feel
better
and I will hold your hand 

but what if I never really get to know you
should I retreat to Colombia? or Ecuador?

I know nothing
of what you’ve
become

but I know that you are
always welcome here 

wrapped
inside
my
arms, where
I could always
and would always 

kiss you 

goodnight.