Ismael Garay THE LIZARD SPEAKS IN TONGUES      Bring back the ancient days      when all was young.      —Arthur Rimbaud A narrow light radiates onto the freeways of soul. We said our goodbyes without any tears, then we contemplated death, surrounded by a culture searching for something real, waiting for life to take us by the hand. They stole my light and I barely even knew it. They’re stealing stars from the virgin sky, but don’t take my word for it, try to see through your own tainted eyes. What have we become and what have we been afraid of turning into? What have we left our children besides these tears running down the streets? With every line I write I tend to die a little more, my attempts to stand up spilling onto the floor. Praying besides these walls— I want more than God sometimes, I want anarchy in my cups of wine, I want love falling around me where you knew I’d be. I am silent in my essence, like an empty cup, up all night drinking wine and wondering who I really am. Sky turns into moon, voice of soul is a lover’s moan, outside the lizards speak in tongues. My Pentecost resembled Mardi Gras as I turned 21 with Beatles and beer. Now I drag myself through another dream— in my unreality, I’m a dead star, hanging upside-down in the soft dive sky. I shall make an angel of death itself, giving salvation with the light I shed. DRUNK LATE AT NIGHT Screaming lyrics on the pigeon street I let my hair down and begin to stalk the moon. Having drunk too much wine I am a new age prophet with nothing to fear– the blood burns in the words. The fever rages with tongues dangling from the sky, tasting me briefly as I dance with abandon in wine, then crash into the daylight and pretend to be alive.