If I were a condom full of cocaine
would you swallow me across the jaguar mesa
border, skittering hoof on brick and Holy
Family flight from the Aztec
pyramids where virgin
blood throws its red leg over the white
bed's edge to rise with the first sun—huh?
Swallow the firework cartridge deep
into the mortar's barrel? Scream
pre-Columbian constellations, Aurora
Meridialis, in thick wool
Apache colors across the New Mexican winter night?
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