AUTO-LIFE

I am a criminal with no intent, hearing the grimmest
reaper say: you'll never find a better deal than this, son,
now wave goodbye to it
and so in the pillowed room of my life

I wait like a criminal, with a torrid future
already in the works
paint the bottoms of my lungs raw
and hear the sound of a waterfall landing on all the trees,

steaming and waiting, plastic chaired
the front of a laundromat, staring into the unsettled territories
the nourished mirage and the birds many
kissing small each others on that flicker plane

where old women find a bench each next to themselves,
smoking, the low limbs of young trees overreaching
without sense, filtering the collision of skin with so many suns,
the weather of everydays piled on her shoulders she multiplies

I wait like a criminal for my mother carrying a huge purse,
I wait for one of her sisters to geyser out of the iceberg,
I wait for a trickle from the glacier that unleashes lipstick,
the life inside the life waiting