When I got desert sand in my toes
I kick it at the golden gate and the lost tribes come marching down the byway
and they toss me bolts of silk and egyptian cotton
I hold on and swing all the way through to Alcatraz
Mount Sinai rumbles under my feet and propels me up to heights
unreachable
diamond heights
Where the houses stand tall and their ugly paint never chips
Where I walk along billygoat hill caressing sprawling greenery
and the soldiers come marching down the freeway
and their feet stamp patterns in the desert sand
making my two realities collide and crumble
precarious
and I fall
onto molested mission streets
empty soda cans and cigarette butts nest in my hair
and the ice cream man rolls over my crooked ankle making the bells on his cart sing
a song that mingles with mariachi music wafting from a chinese doughnut shop
and the lost tribes come marching on through
with their leathery faces and their billowing robes and their leaden feet that stamp patterns in the desert sand
They lay me on their shoulders and I am passed down an aisle
of my heritage
down from the city streets
down through the Nile
When they take me home
I got desert sand in my shoes
So I take them off and I turn them over
and the lost tribes come tumbling across the floor.
