We were brave
letting in a thought
letting in a memory
of your face we touched
let an idea be entirety
dance in front of us…
analyze this softness
one you can’t predict…
Tag: Poetry
Fire Outs!
Don’t you remember the first time
oh but I reminisce when we didn’t know
what we were doing, but doing it anyway.
What happened?
Did the fire burn out?
Even as I carry a cause
so burns a joyousness.
When I look at you
as I speak in tongues
when we’re together
it hurts surrendering
to the vanishing pitch
mixtapes with our own voices
thoughts gathering together
it hurts surrendering to waves
crashing in, to an exuberant boom
promise of a spark extinguishing.
Grain of Sand
Strands of hair, blowing in your face: own your way
reflect your cyclosis directions, a translation wanting
to mend, it twist and bends to a surrendering shoot
tell me where last you’ve cast your spell
tell me who last uprooted your growth
whip your ends into an eventual murmur
trembles, typify…
Recycling
And creep
then walk
and linger
then expose
and wonder
then laugh
and cry
then kiss
and touch
then fight
and hiss
then sit
and watch
then repeat
your thoughts…
Swept!
lips taste of a soft invitation
after all lips are begging of a request
to kiss you there, there, and here
where you least expect it, where you
want to be touched most of all
where you are center center
and the spotlight makes you come
as you’re electric with each strand of
hair that stands up, now with a tremble
you want more, but can’t bear your wail
being exposed, in front of your armor
a culture of selves pirouetting a levity
jigsaws into place, a pattern that is unseasoned
one that burns with desire, one that is swept up.
Be Rid of You
You can keep your sentiments
and all your love attachments.
You can keep your loneliness too
because I have my own.
You can keep everything that draws your face
or expects you coming through the door
I’m going to free myself of you, all of you
I will free myself of you and all your things
that lingers alone and anticipates
when I don’t need them anymore
I will free myself, free myself
free myself from you!
DOILY
I race to you like I know your fire
chasing call like lightening’s line storm
thunder’s reckoning response, trepidation
waiting in the middle like a doily for your soil
.
Dirt
not flowers with their imagined hearts
not tending to exploding boobs on a brutish hand
not fabricating in my favorite telenovela
all made-up like an ironic trophy wife
does nothing but make me
miss all the sex…
I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
before you claim your discovery
covering your stems, trampling your pieces
filling them with the sum of this sickle tree.
I want you in the morning
while you’re all dirty
so I can feel by some miracle
I can feel like I can touch you
before we’re both filled with this fruitless mirage
this purposeful pursuit for the world’s perfection
where everything seen is judged whole.
Chance.
I pray even when God doesn’t exist
as I tiptoe to the bathroom, as I dance
on a tight rope, the only God I knew
was unforgiving of my trespasses.
Even when I stare at God, my demon
Oh My Lord,through my half emptied bottle.
I pray even when the Word is forsaken
I pray when my existence doesn’t borrow
relies not on accidents…
She made me love more.
I woke up, but I was already too late
gone she was from my spent desires.
To find your rhythm, find you no more
to find you… Wanting your kisses
like dreams, to whisper secrets in my sleepy ear
but found you when longing knows nothing about
sensibility, all it knows is my accordion love
listing each and every discovery of your light.
KiKi
It saddens me that I didn’t extend a hand to you
when that elbowed reach would have embraced your love:
your offering to the world. I pretend to understand why
when nothing could have kept you safe from all that is out there.
All I have is these scattered moments searching for a reel of cinema
my mind recollects our last true adventure, where, where
you stole the dance floor with your moves, I watched you dance
and wanted you to teach me what came to you like lightening striking a tree.
Dedicated to Bacci, rest in peace.
Esme and Zami
Esme and Zami are siamese twins
Esme, the temperament of water, fell in love with whirlwinds:
The secrecy held in the world beneath the ocean.
After admiring the girl in the reflection she dove in
Living far beneath the surface, returning for fireflies in summer
Sometimes just to listen to the city’s rooftop raindrop drummers.
Zami, the temperament of fire, her blood runs close to her skin
At the bald of her hands and feet feel the rush of cold sin.
One night she awoke breathless, off her body cold sweat dripping
She ran out of space and slowly the walls crept in.
Anxious for air and with fervor in her muscles
Leaping for the night, scaling over walls and fences, Esme became bionical.
Esme and Zami are siamese twins
No overnight miracle of a mischievous nymph.
There was time for a breath between days for a hush
And defeat to soak itself at the root of a purpose.
Hear it escape in a wail, a laboring sigh to playful fantasies
Masked in the ringlets of an occasional lover’s kisses.
Zami was leaping over water over two nights
Stopping to rest, finding shade from the moon light
Under the thick yellow of a poui tree in bloom
Catching breath, crouching to her knees, smelling Esme’s perfume.
Blue moss, wild strawberries decorated her
The dancing Esme muses on stories told by her mother.
Tightly closing her eyes, she keeps the music to herself
Repeating the words in a lullaby.
Her mossy blue arms reach for no one
But the gentle caress of the ocean.
Zami bemused, came closer to the moon
Caught by Esme’s mystery about her lips, about her blue nakedness.
She found pleasures so much so she had forgotten
About walls and fences to scale, but found comfort in this harbinger.
Finally she held her breath and dipped her head in.
Surprised Esme, but not afraid she smiled and began to sing
Tal vez amor
Tal vez tu debes mi amor
Saber como nadar
Saber como nadar
Antes de hundir
Tu cabeza en mi agua.
Esme and Zami, they are siamese twins
Joined to the heart and mind ever since
Zami found shade from the moonlight
Under the blooming poui tree one night.
Letting go of the tree branches
Letting go of her fences
She relaxed and extended her arms
Looking up to face the moon shining
She pushed her chest out to embrace
The currents. To kiss the waves.
Rejection Letter #1
I received it in the mail today
my very thin self-addressed envelope
not today I said out loud, not today
for you see, I’ve already felt the day to day
crippling blow, as I made my trek through
the drudges, through the thick mundane
automatic motions. I have failed as a robot.
Regardless, I thought and grinned for chance
there’s still the possibility… Aah yes the optimist
with her tireless audacity, with her juvenile beliefs
full of maybes, could be dreams floating like clouds
waiting to be caught, oblivious to the message in the
note starkly staring back: thank you, but no thanks.
Broken
So quickly the erasure has begun
as pieces of me are being removed.
From that heart, I’ve been gutted out
from that mind, my reflection turned into shards.
I was suppose to know it was happening
that the coils my hair makes no longer brought joy
and understand that a betrayal was for me to take notice.
But it doesn’t matter now, as all the tenderness
as all the dreams, like abandoned leaves, dwindle away
trapped in a dusty old box filled with memories, well forgotten
displaced by some new desire to excite the tête-à-tête.
So quickly the erasure has begun, in one day
what once was comforting as a simple embrace, a brush of the hands
is being replaced with talk of sleeping arrangements.
NIGGER U*S*A
Can’t take dat sting away
de sting from nigger
ah poor ass nigger
cause nigger is poor
and poor is ah nigger.
Embrace nigger
with all de ills of livin-ah
nigger life
liquor cures all curse den
hunger of havin nothin
but de smell of stale
piss and shit.
Hunger of havin nothin
but ah bitch for the dogs
tight leopard spots
running ruin to her hips
yellin everyday–“But ain’t he
ah black ass nigger
ah dirt poor nigger.”
Hunger of havin nothin
but ah mammy swearin
“In Jesus name I’ll kill dis nigger.”
A bastard only screams
what his mama been taught
“You fuckin Nigger.”
Can’t take dat smell away
neda-nev-ah
of skin burnin
of flesh on fire
ah bloodthirsty explosion.
Can’t embrace nigger
without de ills of being
the only Negro in Holland Michigan
even if the University invited you
the white faculty–with their cherry smiles–
says, “It’s because we needed a show and dance nigger.”
Even if your walls are covered with awards
fooled into what you can afford
to sit in Holland’s Gourmet café
two white construction workers
can still say, “Niggers are everywhere now.”
Can’t embrace nigger
without embracing Negro Joe
who dreams of jumping higher
running faster-climbing-swimming
bursting out his exile of skin.
With something to lose
never quite sure of what:
his legacy of having
dirt poor nigger skin?
his potential to all his possibilities
for true love?
Sticking his big black dick into
some white chick–any white chick?
Welcome to Nigger U*S*A
the forever new cerebral
recurring phenomenon
forever framed into
black and white motions
de sting still lives
cause nigger is dirt poor
and poor is ah nigger.
Carnivorous Plant
I am a Venus fly trap
clapping you into my
pinkest wound, and
then eating you alive.
Good Morning to You! REVISED
Half awake, look sideways
time ticking away its loss
breakfast snacks hides
buries last cocktail I will
sleep 5 minutes more.
Wake up!
Drooling lateness’s regret
rush the turn of the covers
feel the static of the T.V.’s weather
feel the jilt on the news it brings when it’s summer.
Lukewarm swarms the faucet’s trickle as it drips
decide what is safe to wear, press pour into a Thermos
stare at the clocks that you frantically embrace
not even your pink, yellow and white pills can save you now
you scratch your head aganist whether or not you need a cure
calmly pushing them down in my pouch anyway
As your necessities sigh right back at you:
phone, ipod close by
keys, breakfast, lunch
coffee in tow, mints
cigarettes in pockets.
With sunglasses on, yeah
you’re ready to go, then race.
Yeah with sunglasses on
yeah I’m ready to race, with cigarette lit
pods in place, check for messages.
Catch the steeplechase on the 9:15 R
it will take you to 57th and 7th Ave.
55th is my destination.
Wrestle in between the inhospitable hot seat
a man, smaller than you, with his legs spread apart
displaying what he got, and a woman in petite position
when design decided she is taking on a half more of her seat
when design decided to exclude a space for her
you sit anyway, you squeeze your eyes close, you fit.
At every abrupt stop you hold your breath
as to not lean aganist your neighbor’s edge
but sail you will along in this alone silence
your mind full with thoughts on her
your ex lover, the last time… when was it?
Oh good, I’m forgetting markers.
With sunglasses on
yeah you’re ready to go, then race.
Yeah with sunglasses on
yeah I’m ready to race, with cigarette lit
pods in place, check for mistakes.
Then walk three long blocks
delight up like the horde in front of you
followed by a spit and a mint…
The Path
I don’t expect directions
they’re useless anyway
as my reference
I’ll have to depend upon
my own voice
tending to my own discrete guilt
swearing back as I hope
nobody’s notice in the clouds
nobody’s thoughts in the darkness
to make it seem better
I’ll imagine a Hero
just so not to remember how much
measured haunts my own stairs
listening too long
becoming so too commonplace
dying while my own shadow is so sucked in
moaning a web of a useful-less view
pigeonholes
to cover my own liars
Maybe She Just Didn’t Wanna Dance With You Dude
Well thank goodness for dat, cause I woulda been confused
being as it’s a queer disco ball spinning its bacchanal lights tonight
shiny confetti glimpses of why you’re here, staring right back at me
from across the room.
Did you find my gaze entertaining?
One to test out but never wake up to, cause you’re so sure
you don’t want what society prescribes, and yet you’re here
with us, where poverty procures a so call lesser being.
You wait for him.
I’ve become your novelty of sorts, I’ve become your snicker
with your friends in a corner, watching me to see me
build up the gumption, waiting for the right song to cheer me on.
Did it make you feel wanted?
Most beautiful of all? When I didn’t ask for your name
your number, who you’d like to fuck on a regular
I didn’t ask for your life, I asked you to dance.
Typhoon
I laughed at him–Dr. Lang–the psychiatrist.
Apparently he’s never been at the edge
of any natural disaster–the debacle turbulence
of almost pissing yourself–how long can you hold it?
Or sensed the secret–why a tamed dog one day
ripped apart the baby he once played with. Can you
foresee a trifling accident turn into a typhoon?
Bloodshot eyes witness the terror in the sun
rising, pouring, without a care of the closed curtains
into my sixth floor windowed room. Ignore the taunts
of the stickman’s shadow leaping into the wind
of a cyclonic train. I laughed at him. Unaware of
Nature’s fickle primordial demons, he demanded
I postpone until next month’s appointment.
COCOYEA 
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