Poetry & Prose
I am very still.
My chest barely moves with each breath.
I am calm. I am warm.
Maybe it's because
My skin's the color of the
beach floors their ancestors conquered
So familiar to be taken
I don’t delete those numbers although
they’re dead, I’ve been told,
those persons, not numbers.
they said the good girl knows how to close her mouth
she always pretends to ignore seeing revolutions in the north
or in the south
the good girl used to crawl
she must hide the bright side of her soul
-the list goes on, on and on, names and dates i've forgotten,
but were an intense vivid and you-always-think-it-will-be-there in deep indigo, mirrors, the tiny magic stage--
maybe, maybe--like the song says, 'some other spring'-- for the ghosts, and onwards, 'for the living--
Seria
Como buscar una parte de ti mismo.
Mirate en un espejo y vete a ti mismo
Mira las caracteristicas de tu rostro
Mira el ser detrás de esos ojos
Todas tus facciones
Presta atención
El tipo de nariz que tienes
El arqueado de tus cejas
El contorno de pómulos y boca.
Beach, bright water, moonstreaked clouds
A triadic configuration of the summer night
Standing on the cliff above the beach
Since you’ve been gone...
I am left here all alone, with no one to talk to on the phone
With only the overcoat to keep me warm
No matter what surrounded them and
what the blizzard wailed at the sand,
that their shepherd’s den was close, nor
that they had no place else anywhere:
Fought to escape my own existence
I drifted in the void of empty promises
Left my soul in the catacombs of my mind
My heart aches
It breaks and breaks
My thoughts run at the speed of light
My head hurts from pure fright
If history repeats itself then the story of conquering Hernan Cortes is on the shelf while pol, Joe Crowley‘s hunkering down. She’d said she wouldn’t back the candidate if she should entertain defeat, but campaigned like a potentate, as capable as she seemed sweet.
7pm in April
and i hate everything
I remember when we woke together in the ancient streets of Spain
I remember I felt a strong shiver which could heal any pain
when the fantastic windows whispered in my ears " hello "
I couldn't dare to reply
I thought that voice came from my fellow
so I began to spy
You can see/feel/experience this work by LaMont Hamilton at The Drawing Center in SoHo.
How do you tread on a Tiger’s tail ?
Baby.. we are jealous, her exciting voice and outcry
Gave us new understandings for sharp color, real color
"Heylo hello hey hi hiya my love"
I had a Brother once
And maybe I lost him
In Hallways of your Soul
XYK repeating, replicating the shattered bits of his refracted nullity, the shadow of his elemental hatred sombresaulting up from the endless slurry of his hatchery, where he fluffs the nearly hairless balls of his projective fantasies, cross breeds a sickly effluent with it's cousins, lies and slander, takes the broken offspring of this noxious union and remates it
As an African child
I crawled on mama arm
Searching for an imaginary house
Which bear me with a fancy view
Of the coming clouds upon my head
She was made of water
And in and out of water
Wanting, wishing, withering
What would it be like to edit down
a poem into its brittle bones
down to the last ash
on a burning log
down to thin veins
on a frozen leaf
twigs on an icy night
shivering in the dark gray
solstice sky
down to breath
or the last
kiss
before sleep?
red rays of the unknown sun came down to my new window
warmly shiver touched me, made me laugh as a fresh baby
I decided to think about the source of these unknown rays
but, suddenly a kind of musical sound covered my ears
the sound did not seem like any earthen sound I ever heard
it was a mix of waves dancers and creation of colorful bird
it was like a smell of honey and the secrets of gold
I want to carry in my womb
The bodies of the dead women
Killed by the dictatorship
My womb
Full of old pictures with their serrated sides
Full of vaporous language
Full of gardens in child’s mind
My womb will grow like a giant piñata
So full of communists
And you'll fear them all
for J.D. Rage
I pick up a Xeroxed flyer
for a show by someone I know slightly.
Her photo shows her in leather, chains, sunglasses,
with a mass of black hair.
And I think, This is where
I want to take a woman for a date.
Allen Ginsberg, I have worn you on my back
in cafe's, on the flatlands, in a threesome
with a half-stranger, whose pregnant pause stretched out
across the microcosmic corn flake of America's crooked twaddle,
your fellatious weight wigged on the temporary
intonation seeker
information wrecker
restless, mindless, corpseless beggar
hopeless ender
formless bender
broken token, bone winger
terror fire’er
chaperone shaker
calamity master, baits occupy hater
Let’s face it
Nothing is cruelty free
Especially when that bitch on Facebook
Piped up and replied
“This reply to your reply is cruelty free!”
I see you Sistar
I can hear your mockingbird tales take off
As quick as my daughter’s father could get
Himself committed.