Last Mojito, The

Nausea

68 THE LAST MOJITO Nausea Last night I heard The cry of the wild Echo in the deep canyon Where sleep fed me A diet of runaway dreams. I tried to swallow truth As best I could, But dishonesty’s taste Lingered in my mouth, And I swore I saw The red face of shame On the plate before me: One eye open— One eye closed. Without proper appetite It is foolish to consider Eating the last supper; Let alone what passes For the breakfast of champions. My empty stomach attests To the only principle I now hold sacred. So then should it be I find myself trapped, Here in the land of nausea, Hungry despite a refusal To wake from this restless sleep And devour my next meal. ...