local_library Borrasca y Lluvia

by Charles Farrell Thielman

Published in Issue No. 209 ~ October, 2014

Dune grass ticking on a blue-jeaned leg,
he’s left the pace mined from unloading


boxcars to the tide-line’s broken shells,
stepped inside a whispering current


while so many machete through green,
greasing our slide into a dark cabaret.


Assigned scripts pinned between ribs
as dust circles the veins of our eyes.


He gnaws through brick laid by
grandfathers and father, various


dialects like beads drying on his tongue.
He’s ready to river gems past the monotone


inhaled, past the monotone mined
from the cubicles built by white-eyes.


Toxins dissolving the pearls dispensed,
he senses a wave building, carrying


hot debris and bred angers,
statues and columns melting


inside black rains as chaos gains volume.
Fingering the agates in a pocket, he


wonders if he could sense their
gathered light, then translate


it into colors brushed onto the canvas
filling via spine-fed brushstrokes, easel


just visible through that cabin window,
journal on the table pulsing rivulets


of dawn thoughts. Self-portrait growing,
his face reflected on glass as the incoming tide


feeds the shoreline background. Clouds,
yes, on the horizon as he speaks


the Spanish word for storm, borrasca
for rain, lluvia.
                                        Borrasca y Lluvia
                                                            Amor, Amor