Since I’m not a magician
I’m not going to rob you with illusions
alluding to what miraculously went missing.
Since I’m not a magician
there’s no glittered confetti
at the end of each act
since time lacked any patience
to steal your heart or mind away
you might want to depend
on all the comparisons
you were told would
make you subjectively better
and then call it FACT!
listening
and all
I want
to hear
so beautifully
arranged in
Oh I hear
I can’t wait
to listen
in patience
Is what
her songs
sound like
I was the last to recognize the rain
to hear its trepidation, gently at first
on rooftops; distinctively you can hear
its harbinger, a forceful few drops
splashing the likes of endeavours away
leaving remnants of lost desires:
fallen leaves, wet guttering leaves
ruminating over the first time you dealt with
the hours, the seconds that behest hope.
Like no one else has dealt with pain
you tell yourself yet again another lie:
I won’t care so much, care so much
anymore.
I’m a new person
cold and unforgiving.
The cling of residue is not as listening to the end of rain… It is more like a dangerous virus indulging in its wasteful raillery, or letting itself kill you. Yes, this is my poor excuse for feeding a discomfort of a terrible year which ended in even more grief for my graveyard.
It is incredibly difficult to find footing on any land, when even believed concrete pavements can quickly become invisible… And all that is left is a chase to keep as much physical form, ground, so you can still at least walk. This is what I attempted in last month’s broadcast of Washington Heights Free Radio’s (WHFR) Broad Strokes hour with Calypso Sally. My attempts failed immensely…
Even though I spinned a lot of deeply felt tunes, and I like the mix I eventually came up with, my commentary was fucked up. So as an apology, my redemption to WHFR and my likely listeners, I am going to re-play the tunes from last month’s broadcast. No commentary next Wednesday, February 27. Indulgence necessary!
The slow motions
the instant repeats
the lifeless potraits
the ending points
kills the most, since
you become aware
the stillness in the eyes
that’s when you know
her sun has set
the day is over
and it is now a drawing
of her faded interest.
But like a never-ending flipbook
you wistfully rummage through
the flickering stages, only to create
your own images, after her
an eyesight that is ruthless
with its rapid velocity
as it blinks with a new truth
faster than a hummingbird’s wings
showing off how she forgets you
and you’re left with the drawings
where someone new has her touch.
waking dream
please, as your
slow and painstaking
walk to nothingness
isn’t an awakening
at all, at all, at all
you’re of a cyclical
constellation
a pattern of recycled
swarms, a cluster of dust
trying to out filter the
gravity of self-worth
How can you have “common sense” when the introduction to your indoctrination probably differs from so many…? Maybe the question is what is “common sense”? Should you dissect each word into syllables of variable circumstances, as to discover what is meant? Maybe a Venn Diagram would be useful, as to pin-point where common sense is truly exhibited in all human occasions of which that validates worth: labor, money, intellectual bullshit…
Wreckless is to give all of yourself to another.
You’d become harshly aware of the unforgiving cold
once they’re gone, and suddenly you’ve been freed to a sea of silence
at the top of a mountain where there’s nothing left but ice
the unfathomable void, where loneliness has encased itself
to no one to contend to. The sunlight blinds you with tears of longing
bare tears, full of memories, tending towards trepidation.
If you consider the consequence
of a loner’s heart, an irrationality
beats full of irreverence to relativity
to spatial dynamism.
Wanting a ruinous rain
to rid these cursed thoughts…
If you consider these
then they will appear
when you believe you
need them the most
and hope will transcend
into belief of the undoing
trust won’t be an instinctive
feat of the mind crawling out of body.
One of my pet-peeves is seeing people standing around doing nothing.
Then spin
a wheel of string
rope to play hangman with
buy time making
cardboard sleeves
just in case
drench a spineless shirt wet
without purpose
groove a grave in.
Hot coffee burns
lukewarm finger tips
nervously preparing
another lie–
There’s always something to be
Re
Dun
Dun
Dun
Dant:
paper
napkins
styrofoam
cups
plastic
spoons
sporks
forks
knives
Go Here!!
Swab slabs for red tape feelers
appearing in the dark
early morning’s stock rooms
after-hour cheap cockroaches
re-stock stocked shelves
a different kind of vermin
catches clockwise
the wheel churning
dynamic stale Splenda
an apron in slow motion
a smorgasbord of the top ten
most talented
next showcase:
Insecure Specials
End
less
List
less
events in Crayola:
Italian Panini
amused eyeballs
Cuban Sub
electricity
Cajun Chicken
clapping to attention
Tuna
Big smiles at the door
clean floor needing a good scrub.
If I must forget…
then let it be the time
when our dialects got in the way
instead remember that day
I brought her beads of rain
in a jewel glass so she can marvel
at the rainbow it made.
Let me forever keep the excitement in her eyes then
as they shine so vividly with golden brown visions.
If I must forget…
Then let it be the time
I lost the rhythm of her hymn
and was selfish in my desires.
Instead remember that initial embrace
where time was forgotten, was frozen
all that was present was the heart of happiness.
Like a stupid pioneer
I’ve labored the earth
searching for her tenderness
with a nonsensical reason
I’ve toiled the terrane
with a nonsensical reason
in vain, I’ve wanted to invent
wanting invention to resemble what I’ve felt.
I shall continue to create
the foolish, a heart ablaze,
waiting silently in my studio for her return.
To be that close
as midnight catches
us sheltering under
a peep of an awning.
To be that close
to only the rain
coming in on us
you reminded me
of a place I would go
running away with you
with you, with you next
to me, I reminisce
a daydream of a place
of a place where the air
hummed an unspeakable
glee whispering in the wind
Oh if only you knew what it meant to me…
…suffers me in green vines
as all of my being is fighting
all of my being is pleading
as soon as I know my threshold
has come, and devastated my conscious
breath with all those silent wishes
gripping to a tendency of faith
that I’ll still be here to cherish my longing
longer, to promise me tomorrow…?
Let me know what you think of these two songs that I’m working on for my first solo album. They’re the bare bones of the direction I would like to pursue.Thanks!
your fence makes my bark ah howl louder
makes this caged world that you made me tamed
to believe in, salivating my bloody teeth youth
your mocking bird’s laughter makes my hind legs
stand, and eat you even when you command
don’t bite the hand that feeds you.
relinquished midnight
to your unrequited
howling moon
a cascading curse
pretending to covet
your bad choices
with promises
of a better tomorrow…
relinquished midnight
come sing for me
as my moon howls
a cascading curse
pretending to covet
my bad choices
with promises
of the sun rising
tomorrow my words
my words would
won’t remind you
of my pleasing smile
stained with an unrequited
emanation…
Catch me when
I’m not an awkward butterfly
lighting almost on the exhausted hibiscus
a weary comfort for a glimpse
an imprint on the fading sun
Catch me when
I’m not a bitter blue caged parrot
calling out for jack daniels like my owner
not owning a thing but a feathery bird
Catch me when my cliche is filled
jelly rolled happy joy, sunshine sprinkles
too consumed with sugary goodness of opposites.
Do parallels meet in the infinite demise of one?
Do we call them an equilibrium?
a jelly roll, then a shot of jack?
everything is on automatic
no soul to spring a body erect
no blood blushing trouble
coming any minute now
and if you have soul
they’ll soon suck you
dry of your daydreams.
The first dream I had tonight
falling asleep
so long
your hands can’t reach
groping darkness for miles
a dream where
a snake leaves teeth marks
miniature bumps
immediately blooming
with black holes for roots
so shocked by permeating fever
I was falling backwards
into a brown scorpion puddle
I heard my self yelp when stung.
everything is on automatic
no soul to spring a body erect
no blood blushing trouble
coming any minute now
and if you have soul
they’ll soon suck you
dry of your daydreams.
Harking up with joy, filled with so much food
we beggars can’t ask for more calloo, stewed chicken
macaroni pie, we can’t finish our plates, we just lie with
our bellies bobbing to the sky, as she pulls her skirt, and dance.
Catching the departure of her grace from my selfish grip
like a butterfly, thinking I caught her yes in hereafter
the steps to her highway reigns in all the places
that lingers in me, you feel her magic magnetized…
“…the oppressed…exist in a dialectical relationship to the
oppressor, as his antithesis-that without them the oppressor could not
exist…The oppressed can over come this contradiction in which they
are caught only when this perception enlists them in struggle to free
themselves.” — Paulo Freire
endeavors
I wasted them
too much on You: an unspecified person or people in general
word phrases, such as “Fuck them”, even with good intentions
built on good things, I am afraid of losing, and I still want to hold onto, as is
diagrams, making a backlash blueprint, a deja vu
fully endorsed for You to fully forget the previous
a most cunning I, a most depleted but
where’s yours, where’s mine
reminiscent comet
ricocheting the earth’s surface
eclipsing the sun
burning with spinning promise
scattering cinders of hot bread
thoughts shattered across the hemisphere
where You, I, we live.
COCOYEA 
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