December In Mexico

It’s mid-winter here in Quintana-Roo Tonight the rain has come It is not unusual But the tourists are not happy I am here to write and sleep Mostly to sleep The rain upon the thick leaves of the jungle Sound like small drops of blood Hitting my boots Memories of Asian nights As I sleep those drops Bring back the dead And I wake. And then I write. These are not good stories They are nightmares They are things I wish to forget I write them and then I try to sleep again Ambien the devils aspirin Keeps me asleep until Reality comes back The jungle never sleeps It holds on to dreams And men.