James Cervantes, poet and editor, is definitely a straw dog when in residence on Hog Mountain. At other times, he is an expat living in San Miguel de Allende (Guanajuato, MX), though the pandemic has temporarily driven him, his wife, two dogs, and a cat to shelter in Arizona.
The Dailies
White masks, red and blue
banners above the news.
Paperless, low voltage.
*
Less than dust, loaded with death,
just wants to kiss your lungs,
kiss, suck, kiss, ocean of tongue.
*
We don’t have faces or hands.
We have masks and gloves.
We worship our secret lungs.
*
How much closer
can I keep to myself?
I walk through tomorrow
and the next step
is through myself.
*
To speak is to lie, to lie is to speak.
A million nothings come of a million nothings.
Daffodils: spring. Yellow leaves: fall.
I should be cooking dinner. My neighbors
are falling like livestock. But, alas,
they cannot be processed.