gold rush

the California ground was dry
as we missed exits
between corral
and wind mill oscillating in white washed metal
he ashed
a cigarette
from a cracked open window
as the yucca cacti
spread their arms
like highway tombstones
and my roving eyes were
anonymous graveyard looters
beneath desert sky
which is woven now
in the history of our sex
needled sacrament
in the loom of memory

I was in the passenger seat
undressed except for panties
threadbare and shameless
he reached over to me
and found the suck in my mouth
in the burnt light
of another one of our wild localities

we passed through
we passed, we passed
identical rest stops of the Mojave
but once we paused and
I got high inside him
our bodies shivered
in the gratitude
within the muscle.


i am a clown
balancing books on my head
to distract
your laughter
away from seeing
that i am up to my neck
in the silt
of a thousand lifetimes
quick sand toppling over me
like syphilis of the colonials
like a bridal wreath in the congo
and in later imaginings
i pretend to be walking
the hills of the bay
walking towards a lover's house
the smell of dim sum
as i pass through
on a clear
unbroken day

Sinta Jimenez is an LA-based writer and fine artist.
Her paintings and poetry have been published in
several literary magazines including The Truth
About the Fact, Forth,
and The Black Boot.
In 2000, she was a recipient of a National Association
for the Advancement of the Arts Award in Short Story.
She is currently pursuing her MFA at Otis College
of Art and Design.

2004-2009 Underground Voices