NO MAS DULCES

The curse meant for the star throated princess
has fallen in my sack.
I left home a demon
and returned a witch.
I expired last Tuesday
when the moon was in Taurus.
Oh luna loca.
Mi madre pobre.
I can't win the war
with all these frogs.
I know the smoke.
I know the bloat.
But this rote right here
won't clear the moat in time
for fresh beggars' ball.
Cursed to crawl one last mile
in the season's coolest ashes.
At least I smell familiar.
Flores para los muertos.
When I get to the radio junkyard
I know who to listen for.
The commercials all rhyme with
burrito.