Infinite Ear

Imagine the world
trying to get inside this plant.
Knocking on it
as one would on a sealed chamber.

The spines snarl angrily
like dogs chained to a doorpost.

The meat resists
the hand or the knife,
and when you finally enter
you're already lost in infinity.

In tasture or text,
I mean texture or taste,
in pulchre -

it speaks
back at you hollowly
as if it were its own sound.

Already a magical potion:
maguey, ocotillo, cardenche
mezcal, sotol -
the infinite ear.

by Norbert Ruebsaat