JONAS PULIDO VALENTE

I am merry. I am married. I am a figment of film in a basement of basements. Oh Lord, when will you hold my name, my body carved out of your mind, and screen me at the Chinese Theatre plaza?

I am my own man, whatever that means, just go from hand to hand to hand to Devil’s bargain, back to the beginning. I am your friend. You are my child. When will we all get together and exchange proprietary information, so I can be American?

I dance and dance, waiting for the new Mayflower.

My home is gone, my country has changed it’s base from wallflower back to bronco busting and standees.

I belong here, but I belong there too. Not many can prowl the planet, but very few make of it their desired intent.

It’s not proved I’ll happen in Roma, it’s just a great probability.

I am a decaying carrot, accompanied by a sturdy root, impossible to impregnate with any other plant. I must find my Juliette.