The green florescent lights
the smell of oily beans cooking
wave through the window lazily,
stained yellow tiles jet up from the floor
dangerous like barbwire, or rancid meat,
mildew lacing the tub a covered trail.
You take off your clothing
in front of the mirror.
A crack splits your body,
left to right,
past to present
soul to callous shell.
Holding your camera at your waist,
you snap discolored, distorted slides.
What else would these horrible
documents reveal.
A portal to the unseen,
to the insane rhythm of time
Bending nauseous at
the center.
You put on your pants, your shoes
the rest of it: the order of it all
seems predetermined as your sigh.
Walk into the Mexican streets, a dancer
facing west, forever towards the setting sun.

.