The Soldier of Mictlán

Once upon a time there was a soldier who marched to Mictlán in his soldier boots and every step was a soldier step and every breath was a soldier word. Do you know what this soldier said? I'd like a piece of bread for my soldier hand. I'd like a slice of cheese for my soldier nose. And I'd like a woman for my soldier heart. The mayor of Mictlán saluted the soldier and bowed his head as he told the soldier: We have no bread, oh honorable soldier, we hold empty hands instead. Dear soldier, let us take yours if we may. And the soldier held out his hand to be taken. Oh brave soldier, said the mayor, cheese is your soldier wish, but we have none since the other soldier left. We whiff empty hands instead. The soldier let the mayor sniff the scent of his soldier palm. And forgive us, oh strong soldier, said the mayor, but no woman worthy of soldier warmth lives in our empty town. Will your soldier eyes teach us wonder and kindness and soldier love instead? Silence stiffened the soldier face as a search ensued in the soldier head for a moment one moment of soldier bliss. But all was dead. The longer the soldier looked the more the streets of his soldier mind resembled the streets that his soldier feet had taken him to: where no lost soldier finds bread or cheese or a woman to be a soldier wife. This was no space for a soldier life indeed. So off to the hills the soldier fled to seek out the place where a soldier sheds the rattle that beckons the soldier to death to soldier to death to soldier.