Notepad poem No. 4 by Alex Salinas

 This is not an endorsement—it’s self-inflicted
tunnel vision. God, how some books are on
fire. We were driving down Wurzbach during
the witching hour when she said James
Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice was written
in gasoline. I said, “Yes, and nothing is left
of that world.” I have secrets not even
Death will pry out of me. I seized this pen
only because my nerve endings tingled—the shark
is swimming thru my heart. The difference between
prose & poetry is the brash moon or the shy host
on the Black Spandex. I was born to die
in myself. I live to exhaust extant ink
under my feet which do not always carry me home.
I own the words that own me. The letdown
is that people fill in their ghosts like Magritte’s
Pilgrim. The letdown is that legends are boiled
into words. (This is a good problem to have.)
Some of my gasoline lives in a Nike shoebox;
I wear a 10 when I’m not fleeing from my life.
The last night of the Earth means it’s still
night. Whether you die or not, always hit ’em with,
“Cool invite.” When Frida said, “I hope the exit is
joyful,” & left us w/ her appetite. I’m here for it. I
am part blind but my wings work just fine. Coming? Alright.

 

 

 

 

Alex Z. Salinas is the author of poetry collections WARBLES and DREAMT, or The Lingering Phantoms of Equinox. He is also the author of a book of stories, City Lights From the Upside Down. His third collection of poems, Hispanic Sonnets, is forthcoming through FlowerSong Press. He holds an M.A. in English Literature and Language from St. Mary’s University.