Miami's the pantano mas proud, province of Freon and sandstone, limestone, fango.
Coral castles and dollops of mangroves, microbes in the water and sprinklers on timers.
The hemorrhage of traffic on the stereo, in the trunk: arrhythmic seismic apparatus.
An 80's Celica primered to the tits, gargling octane one octave at a time.
The Creole disc jockey murders, the rain-slapped trees, neon as a theme in perpetuity.
Exile enclave hive with octopus hands in the lobbying coral with the brown shirts.
And when they talk they fumigate: Fundamentalexilecommunitosis.
Me fui al carajo porque I didn't want to line supervise in the tourism loam.
Didn't want to have to see the golfers take the tedious savannahs in itchy pants.
Me fui al carajo porque I got paid to Fellowship en la Universidad de Massahoochie, Amherst con la idea de pursue advanced degree en poesia.
And that's exactly what yo hize.
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