Atop the stone walls of Texan-Mexico

With girls and girls and girls

And cigars

Climbs up the slope of my presidio

Soundings of trumpet birds

From afars

I can faintly hear from down below

Castanets, tango twirls

And guitars

To the firing squad that forms a row

Facing the man who curls

My regards

Recent Posts

Seeing I flamed a forest on fire In a friend-of-a-friend's dream diary I bluntly blamed her for being a liar And was assured it was no...

So I told my mother That us ballet dancers Know that the capuchin Seen while channel surfing Hides this gruesome detail: The sly organ...

My confidence is in my confidants But said confidants are up conifers At an altitude where ice never melts On conical tips connected to...