they chew the earth’s bruised and purple fungus

and say to one another, 

Xiauh ica cualtizin

the wax sky of trapped dreams melt down the horizon

tree trunks and branches grow along their peripheral

music drenches the inside of their skulls in endless colors

a drum beat of ancient origin  

nature’s hot, steamy breath coats them

smelling of dampness of birth of oblivion

cochleas vibrate as the indigenous wisdom 

is whispered in their ears

their tongues heavy with the taste of otherworldly truth

and the pungent pollutions of human souls

roam the ground with warning sounds

mother, mother! What shall we do?

their cries are drowned in the spiraling dome of ink

above, the sun bruised and bloodied 

bleeds onto them

dousing them in molten visions 

they drown in their own minds