Mariachi
The modern mariachi
strums lightly black guitar.
He severs all the visions
of neon in the bar,
And pours the glass,
but doesn't sip,
His stitches loose at jacket hip.
The road goes long and winding far,
To just another whiskey bar.
His boots are stiff, and night draws nigh.
And in his heart, the samurai,
He clutches tight the handled case,
with stickers fresh from every place,
That settled in his memory--
A resting place, a mystery,
for those who wish to look and see,
Just how restless,
sleep can be.
