Two Happy Left Feet

(This work is still in progress.)

They call it Peace
but there is rarely
tranquility
waiting
for my home
to shift and di
vide
beneath and 
from inside me.

I find no silence
between my 
private spanglish
dialogues on
identity and the 
frenzied flapping
banner sounds my
resolve makes as

tied to the gently
shifting pillar of
my soul

it snaps
in the roaring winds
of political static and
the sleet of loaded
stares
and empty promises
as swells of swaggers
and shrugs give way 
to tides of eyes that
lap at my ankles 
and work their way 
up.

In this torrent,
my stripes do 
waver.
But just because
I haven't killed some
body
doesn't mean I haven't 
served my country
because my boarder
doesn't stop
at Texas
and my passion doesn't 
know 
what a passport is..

Foreign winds may
cause me to swell
with pride and
curious currents
carry me higher.
In persistent turbulence
I loose my teather
and frayed edges
give way to feathers
where uncoordinated flapping
becomes driven
flight.  

The corn plant doesn't set down deep roots
it sets down cultures
and its small base and rasping voice
take too much from the earth
and leave too little nourishment to their posterity.