Tag: Poetry

Sheep

Protect me now, because I’m careless and would fall over the edge
I need my shepherd’s satellite ligthing my way through these last sunsets
I might fall, oh I might fall, oh I can feel it, as I take another step
when I’m only looking at the birds through the window, a hope in my eye
only a sheep would feel this ease, only a sheep gets caught as road kill…

NOTHING to DIE

I jumped as the river swam with me
prematurely I jumped in the baptism
and what did I see, was the same when there’s
nothing to fear, nothing at all…

Green

Well she’s walking through a crowded dream with a smile just made for me
if I were to describe her now it would take away from the wonderful
that is her laughter, lingering long after it has left the room
if I were to describe a moonstruck, I’d have to dive deep into her eyes
and pray for the courage to swim as fast as the climate of her pupils

one day to want more than wanting you
one day of knowing beyond the surface
that’s how she just, just how she appears to me…

PsychoKinesis

The mind is undiscovered, just like your lip gloss
leaving a message on my lips, what exactly will happen?
I am yet to discover the true meaning of kinesis.
Thinking about you makes all my hairs stand to attention
I hope you can  feel my gentleness as it kidnaps, clings to me
like cosmic static, electricity sparks a harmonized hope
to bring to you, everytime I transmit a message.

De-Con-Des-De-Con-StrUction

Mine, mine, mine, mine
all of this is mine
and I won’t give you an inch
of what is mine even if you cut
yourself building my inch

I want all of it
I want all of you
to build me a dynasty
that won’t crumble
but will kill you as you make it

I’ll subtly dance around your endevours
gracefully I’ll lure you into an infinite lullaby filled with pain and medicine
as you forget your ideas that fleets away, so go to sleep my darling, rest now.

HOROSCOPE

Tripping on Gods that will never cease to be
having them have me, wanting my love
when my condition only drifts like an abandoned
matrice miscommunicating empty bags 
dancing aimless on this dancehall
singing: making sure The Nigger is clean.

Daggers

the things we tell our friends
just so they can win our side
even when you know you’re wrong
the secrets we keep from friends
that’s what I’m interested in
but when will the daggers reveal themselves
when will they say to you as you stand delinquent
loitering with too much knowledge and you know it:

when will they say to you all the bad things first
and then I love you after. We cry for an intervention.

Maybe when we’re adult enough to die in truth
Maybe when all the alcohol has ran out, the betting on lives has died
and all that is prohibited is a bitter run home hiding behind masks
since the house that warmed this apathy burns
throbbing with my search for acceptance, throwing it to my face
the ashes of utter disappointment.

Wasted on BMB

Easier for you to rip me out
rip me out, out of history
replace our ghost with
how long it takes a device
to catch my pulse.

You say I’m foolish, uncomplicated
when I saw you crystallized far further than your catalog chatter:
bringing the world up to speed to your gospel.

Lives

propel me towards the shade where it’s cool
I stand there looking relaxed for the earth’s surface
when I’m used for rejection, to what use to be
your nose raised shunning the soil that made me
you laugh a scandalous laugh, when you gave me too much rum
and distorted my start on the world
we’re good at saying goodbye to what created us and destroyed us: equally.

But this infinity is like a boomerang living right now in our lives:

dem, dat I see dem display as I walk to work
dem dat deir lives dat I left behind

their bodies prematurely bowed, and walking slow
scaving the ground for opportunity, saying how else
how else can you see.

ScareCrow

I watched and learned too many times…

Because I have a friend who knows all about death
saw it with my own eyes, as we poked the body
“it,” said disgruntly let him win on things we argued over 
over gender, over sexuality as the waste made
the body morph into the unrecognizable.

What mattered to me, as we stared at the dismemberment of a self being lifted out the river, was holding somone’s hand. I didn’t want to hold his when I have on several occassions. On days we’ve kissed, on days our parents thought we were so cute together, because his hands were as filthy as mine, and he wanted to keep a namesake, when I had let go of all traditional. 

As I ran through the swamp, I ran home to my mother hoping she would recognize me
tell me who I’m from, who I followed, I found that she was perplexed as me and that I should ask her father about her origin.  She had forgotten he was dead like the rest of them.

Drifted Far from my Constitution

There’s a mad woman yelling in front of this town hall
without any windows left, she’s been yelling about
how much she loves her lover. Driven by the memory
of her 17 years of laughter, she works harder to plea to the tourist.

Some of us aspire to greater endeavors, but most of us just
want to come home to the one that we love, building words
like tetris, too slow down the time shoot, trap hole.

There’s a mad woman yelling in front of the financial district
she’s been yelling about how her lover left her with nine children
I wonder why, or where is the Seven Day Adventist to save her
they weren’t at this location,  and there wasn’t anything left
after 17 years of her marriage, there wasn’t anything left…

Juniper Tree

I needed more than a juniper tree
the sky above as you picture it
beautiful with a temperament of your eyes
a light gasping poor renditions of blue
hazy, and trapped in a pixel-ness of time
we wonder in circles, why a juniper?
You never needed me, as I sit drunken
singing a tune I already know, never gonna love you
breeze through the curtains as a new sardonicism
I’m singing your seduction, lighting up after each one
of your words, syllables that I’m addicted too
when the sky is bluer than the color of your eyes
when you say to me why you can’t love me
vulgar than the ocean’s occasional fucked-up clouding
better than, further than the obstacles you present.

Gypsy Sting

Nothing makes you ready for failure
not even a parachute you prepared
all the trial runs of how it would turn out
doesn’t really get you ready for the shock
of your body slamming against the concrete
your heart beating broken again and again
but all you have left is your intuition for
for when the even breaks, when the downpour
swallows you whole, and you think you’re drowning.

Form

Tonight I rein, and I sing
I sing everything:

but of course I can’t rain a remembrance 
remind you of the causality of feeling

preposterous happening
with its porcupine fingertips

pricking you up the spine so you can’t walk
or brood over the thick…

I sang today, just for you
because I felt the night’s reign

I felt the night pouring on me
beating on my face with its torment

when all you can be blinded by
a tragic composition of seeing

deceptive form, running wild
with euphemistic murder

Synthesis

Another month has gone
wondering how much it would add to exile
banishment from this world
that I’ve created myself around…

As I nakedly dance with the birds’ merriment
on certain days, when I feel like it
when I don’t remember the cost of my translation.

Add it to my displacement tab please
as I yell and scream for something better
my friends are now acquaintances
since they know not how to measure time spent versus time left.

My potential has been broken
over-worked and wasted
I am too old for change or malleability
now fear surrounds my eyelids
giving them a terrible embarkment upon age
premature wrinkles cloud my synthesis.

Shadow Box

With your, I think about every scenerio
my mind is big, and therefore I think…
Do you have a shadow box? Even as
when the morning is bright?
And what do you do with it ?
Have you ever wondered what if you
were asked to dance naked in front of
well… friends, would you ever try to be yourself
in front of a narrow mirror?

Victim D

I needed the darkness
through these lamp pool nights

a dark, an a eclipse
chasing silhouettes goodnight
through this sprawling surface of limbed shadows

like my plant on my windowsill, courageously it will survive
too much light cooking its green leaves brown, it screams a wonder
what if my existence depended not on the sun, a star, nor the light from the moon?

Keeping owl hours, like a demon of the bats battering in the night
I need the darkness from this artificial light. 

.

Hidden Place

hide me, most vulnerable self
so no one can see, including you
my tinyest of cocksure that tries to mend into you

remarkable it says
tells me how I should be
because I’m invisible to the everyday taunts.

The Nurse

I turn my head slowly over my shoulder, just so I can catch her doing something else: unbuttoning her white clean uniform, maybe.  Because she is kind of hot, or maybe I’ve spent so much time in here that anyone becomes hot.  And she is there, sitting in white clean clothes, in this fluorescent white padded room with no windows.  In freshly pressed clothes, with clear stockings on, and clean white shoes, she has a clipboard that she keeps a record.  Jotting down every time I look back from my corner.  Where I’m sitting, I’m dressed in red and black plaid and dark blue jeans.  Barefoot, I tap to an unknown beat as the room only gathers her, just her scribbles.  Buying time, I’m sitting at a desk with stab wounds for graffiti, typing to a ghost.

Inside my Terrane

You couldn’t possibly know how much you mean to me
you couldn’t possibly know, even as I try to tell you
limited by the expression of a syntax, I’m left with a lisp
trying to pronounce joy.  I’m only a jester with failing hands
a useless mime, forever maimed by the unforgiving allusion 
the imagination of life without you.