And now, shoulders crouch
as if to say my rib cage was useless
as my heart no long lives there.
It is theirs, theirs to marvel as it skips
to beat faster as they appear through
mirrors. I am still living as if it were present
but if you look inside my skeleton you’d see
you’d see that I’m now cold and crude
broken, broken without my heart
oh Lord I miss you, I miss you, oh Lord.
They say that if you put stuff out there you get it back.
Well, I’m tired of waiting for loyalty, tired of waiting for compassion
I’m tired of waiting for life to exude itself in kindness, sweetness
independent loving. When can I expect this back? Is there an expiration date?
When can I expect my “goodwork” to happen? Today? Tomorrow?
When can I walk steady and not be on a tightrope?
When will the pain of the devil stop so I can feel again?
Feel my neighbors, my friends, when can hurt
be temporary and doesn’t add up to a wretchedness?
I’m tired of knowing you don’t exist, I’m so tired of waiting for you out there
when all of my fresh being is anointed with hurt and pretense.
How many more years do I have to go before I don’t care anymore?
How many more people do I have to meet before I stop giving myself wholeheartedly?
How much more time do I have left before I just collapse in defeat?
In the mist of mistakes lies trimuph.
When optimism is all I have left to risk
giving way to hopes of a juniper night:
Holding you again. Wanting something
I can’t have whole. I struggle in pieces…
I started drinking my desires away around 4:00 p.m.
It didn’t help the crying, as my shoulders, drunken
they weigh the hours and the minutes of this drought
silently anticipates seeing your golden eyes again
expectation wants nothing more than your kisses now.
Vulnerable to prays when I might be an atheist.
Prays for things out of my control, I meditate a howl
that is so quiet, but roars your name. Underneath bellows
relinquishing all the burdens of my travel through the fire.
Driving down this long stretch of road
there’s nothing to see outside but darkness
I’m terrified of the battery going dead
but then I remember, and I’m comforted
with the thought of her weight pressing
against me again, her dancing as she cooks
she snaps her fingers, and glide her shoulders
from side to side, yeah I stare at her behaviour
from the soulful secrets I’ve stored as memory
so precious to me now as I race through the desert
like a fugitive, I race through the night wandering
through these wasted cities, I close my eyes to the lights
as I’ve arrived at my destination, where nothing exist
where I stand, stranded, looking into her eyes, surrendering.
While everyone is sleeping, I lay awake
wondering what is holier than listening
for when finding the hum of your breathing
nothing else exist but this joyous jubilee
suddenly, the inanimate becomes alive
imagining golden horizons staring back at me.
Like a stray dog, I point my nose to the eclipsed
moon, begging for your scent, your sun, I wander
in circles, shivering on the last spot you stood saying
goodbye, I howl my loneliness for everyone to witness.
Not nobody hears you sing a song so holy
disturbing my rest, with a new question mark
with a new need, that couldn’t be taken aback…
Not nobody can give you a proof of love as holy?
Not nobody can come up with a proof that love exist?
With it’s meant to be absolute? With it matrices
struggling to breathe as conditional decides
for us when we do unfold, gathering care for you
revealing silent songs of secret desires, desire
that rest with our bones, a ghost, we build
but never forget the wasted never leave mes.
Not nobody, I hear your song stories
please play your impressions again
as I keep hearing you dear, keeping you dear to me…
I hear the sweetness of desire in the timber of your sunset
and I want to cage it’s sound for when I feel washed of my love,
when I’m washed cleaned, that slow of my desires…
Now that I’ve found you dear
I don’t know what rest means
as longing has grip my moments
with short curls, and tender kisses
like a thief, stealing my soul away
I want to show you where my many colors begin
when each space has a ripple as riotous as a tending moment
leviatating slowly in the contours of your ebbing embrace
an effusion where I beg for your name.
Beating it’s unfathomable rhythm
breathing its ether time signatures
when to come in, when to rest
when to burst into a horizon
I found you and your lips…
I don’t want flowers right now
they will begin a new displacement
with their crushed petals, bringing anew
as the creases of a page, that you just
bought from the corner store, trying to
make-up with things that doff…
I remember that night in Union Square,
I was telling you some ridiculous tale
of my boyish adventures. I remember
the moment, my hands freezing for your hold.
Everything you said to me resonated
in a way a tropical island warms you
somewhere far from the cold
more romantic than anything in English.
In that moment, I felt fluent in a syntax my tongue
was incapable of pronouncing as a teen
still yet to learn how to do proficiently.
While I was contemplating the correct
conjugative verb, the correct timing
to accent my impulses, you fell close
to me and our lips locked on these streets
where everything is dirty, and crude.
When I’ve been born to be alone
I came into this world with my mother
She’s dead now, she left this place
with strangers, who may have cared
about her survival, and what it would
mean, for a a young survivor, but I’m…
Through the thickness of static
I feel a joyousness playing turns
on a turntable, a moment like this
where nothing exist but you close to me
on the pavement of Union and Get Ready
I drift sideways, and you have to direct me
to my train, because my mind forgot how to walk
infatuated with a high that is your kiss, I’ve discovered
a canoodle dialect, a prerequiste for breathing.
cadger has invaded my dwelling with sleepless nights
wondering if my trails will make a full bed, follows me where
I sleep, and my neglect of the most functional of everyday
will give birth to offsprings, multiplying,
waiting in the wind for their time to discover
a skin populated with same colored fur as their hide
In depths of dreams, we danced
and you asked me why am I here
where envy is capricious in every
eaten word, when I am a creature
of the night, an animal trapped in
the solar plexus of another’s imagination
my lungs have suffered my loneliness
now, they have fluids floating in them
a cough isn’t sufficient anymore, I am
sick with my own disease, you can’t
recognize on the surface, but if my
insides can talk with such vehement
it would tell you how much you meant to me.
I think about where will I would go
it would be anywhere but here
where I lie naked on a dance floor
because I want the comfort of the trees
singing a breeze, dangerous at times
but I know what branch to slumber on
as I reach like the mountains’ peaks…
Where, the best foods are to be discovered
Because we can’t afford your shantytown paradise
where, you pay more money than a Baltimore family
where a school teacher could buy two houses on our poverty-line
Oh did you forget, just because we walk through Williamsburg
with our new kicks, fresh press skirts, we think we own something.
Then, don’t come to our parts of God’s back, don’t even say Jesus sent you
because both God and Jesus will relocate once your ass discover that corner.
You never wanted to be that close to Culture! you just wanted the food, and to be
to be a spectator of a spectacle, like a museum artifact, you can afford to walk into and claim
as your own, and talk about such and such from a distance, from a distance I watch you fall
from your own peneplain… Walking away, I’ll remember this moment and always wear a hemlet.
Yeah, make my own sonnet tonight
Yeah, make my own history tonight
make my own dance tonight, make
make, make, make, make my bake
flour and water, I wrap my dough
Yeah, make you jump in the holy ghost
feelin it eh, feelin it eh in dis power
you clap, and sing til the morning
Yeah, make you catch de devil
ha, ha, make you lose yourself
in your own laughter
mek you tink in different verses.
In the eve of today that is your evening eyes
I turn my curtains away, tomorrow, just so
I can see them change color, as I sit still.
My eyes are bigger than the sunset now
incapable of feeling the delicate window
Dreaming, inside my romanticized state
organized neatly, compartmentalized ellipsis
I will not pretend to be a writer now, with arms fold
brooding over a wilted ole maypole
with intent want, I won’t watch myself depreciate
in a rhyme that doesn’t fit.
COCOYEA 
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