beloved
first son of little lost girl with a lion heart
can
you see the sky goes on forever like your homeruns
when
you played dusty little knees bat nestled in tiny hands
green
fields and blue skies trees to climb yours now eternally
The walls spun around as the grains of steamed rice rolled off the table top like drops of mercury. Asian ladies watched in slow motion as thick moisture atop my brow trickled into a stream. My mouth parched and cottony could no longer pass air through my teeth to form words. I used my eyes to find contact, to cry for help. Nothing. Just stares. The breezes coming through to cool down the sweaty wanderers in the buzzing basement had now spun into typhoon winds crashing into my body.
Guatemalan gawkers and Salvy breast touchers hovered over my limp body laid out in crucifix formation on the concrete floor.
“Nina, nina, are you okay?” said one Oaxacan with a blinking Bluetooth on his left ear.
From where my head laid, I could see the plastic bags filled with pea green plantains, shrimp and Jose Cuervo. One woman with thick legs and a large camel toe bent over me, almost in a bowing formation. I thought I was saved.
“Rafa, Rafa, coll de fire meinz, andale!!” She belted out as she turned her great ass toward my face and the light went out.
No one read minds. Had someone known that my chest was imploding and my soul hovered above me playing poker with John Fante, they would have called for help much sooner.
waking up mouth dry parched soul
death came to warn me
she was a great sullen oak
an oracle to the fallen
angels who peeked out from her
“be good or else child”
in life i had taken more
than i could really handle
i want to be the animal who takes you so high that you will explode in gold and silver ecstasy shivers down your knees to the back of your legs as i tickle your hairy lower back while i climb on your stomach let my mane suffocate you while rolling your eyes to the back of your head you can see how the Son of Man was conceived up close and personal i want to be the animal who on her slick wet skin patchouli mango scent you slip as you chase me to the stars through a roof of glitter and lightning i’ve never stood with the virgins but as a great fortune teller the secrets of the deepest crevices of the human soul can be found in the tar pits of my eye i am the animal who for 17 ethereal seconds will hold you hypnotized paralyzed and then simultaneously release you when i fly to the sky where time disappears as we turn into the nothing of everything regenerating a new crop of witnesses heirs to the embers of what that we left behind
in the beginning when She did pick oxygen carbon hydrogen and nitrogen and He did stir the clay with hot holy essence all the words in the world were at a finger’s length beyond my reach
so close they were that i then leapt out of the nest of my pink blue galaxy and into the pavement of down town LA the words they did follow in time i’d pluck tiny words for tiny worries and the Nephilim smiled for they knew i was falling
in love with the charge of turning the misery hatred pain starvation violence and rape of it all into the beauty found on the hem of the robe of the Goddess and the wing of a humming bird
that’s reaching for the higher hanging words drenched in the nectar from the Tree of Knowledge i strung them up to detail the anatomy of a broken heart with its crystal shards wrapped in Cleopatra’s linens sanctimoniously tucked away in a Payless shoe box atop an urban closet shelf
of the condemned building in the bosom of desperation and the pool in eyes of children stack did i those words like bricks made of powder to bring the kingdoms down and with the rabble of defeat as i burnt down i built up a nation of wordsmiths
who with their quills pens papyrus key boards tablets and marketing firms wait gingerly drinking lattes on the Stratford Upon Avon wicker chairs
that my English teacher said she dusted for the scribes who mused the signs letter symbols into the dendrites of my mind but not before Allen Will Bill Jack Hank Dylan Langston Lou Bowie Leonard and Ms. Angelou were anointed and leaving me with words less spoken
holy roller wave
loving spirit on the way
piercing through the sun
my mother and my father would fight about the air around them or about Jimmy Carter and about their marital problems tired old words leadless bullets that i took for them a meek child called to be King Solomon at 4 the trees and blocks and baby dolls were not enough to free me from the painful heavy feeling in my post toddler soul an orphan in the house of everything meaningless clean sanitary and paid for but not love i had 30 pieces of silver 7 times more and i kissed no one and no one kissed me when i bruised my knees or when the Armenian kids beat me up after school or when i cut the rope and wandered off into the womb of my city the yellow brick road didn’t exist but there were miles and miles of pavement where gentle hands and toothless grins had my best interest at times and at times i grew up the hard way but between stolen 4th of July Fireworks shows OD visits to the ER home cooked waffles at Astrid’s house boys with rainbows in their eyes and a few good angels i learned how to love
durante Agosto a las 8 de la noche
hace mucho calor
compramos helados y cantamos
con nuestros Walkmans
los melancólicos himnos
de Morrissey y Los Smiths
somos la juventud con tristeza fina
emoción delicada
que ya no se puede expresar
con los métodos de los White Fence Boys
en El Este también hay neblina pobreza y destitución
pero también hay cultura costumbres y tradición
también tomamos té y café y hay playa
al fin del tren
entendemos ironías como nuestro ídolo
y aunque se enoje la abuela ya no comemos su cocido
que no sabe que la carne es muerte
los domingos en el cementerio
tratamos de besar a las muchachas
pero solamente en nuestros pensamientos
nuestros lentes grandes nos separan
somos la juventud nueva y media rara
soñamos en cosas que nadie entiende
queremos más de la vida
en la madrugada en nuestras camas literas
nuestro héroe Morrissey nos canta a dormir
durante agosto às 8 horas da noite
faz muito calor
nós compramos sorvete e cantamos
com nossos walkmans
os hinos melancólicos
de Morrissey e The Smiths
nós somos a juventude
com muita tristeza
emoção delicada
que não pode mais ser expresso
com os métodos dos White Fence Boys
em El Este também há neblina pobreza e miséria
mas também há costumes e tradições culturais
nós também temos chá e café
e há uma praia no final do trem
nós entendemos ironias
como o nosso ídolo
e mesmo que a avó esteja zangada, não a comemos
quem não sabe que carne é morte
Domingos no cemitério
nós tentamos beijar as garotas
mas apenas em nossos pensamentos
nossos grandes óculos nos separam
nós somos a juventude nova e meio rara
nós sonhamos com coisas que ninguém entende
nós queremos mais da vida
no início da manhã em nossos beliches
nosso herói Morrissey nos canta para dormir
during August at 8 o’clock at night
it is very hot
we buy ice cream
and we sing with our Walkmans
the melancholic hymns of Morrissey and The Smiths
we are the youth with fine sadness
delicate emotion
that can no longer be expressed
with the methods of the White Fence Boys
in El Este there is also fog, poverty and destitution
but there are also culture customs and tradition
we also have tea and coffee
and there’s a beach at the end of the train
we understand ironies like our idol
and even if the grandmother is angry we do not eat her cooked stews
doesnt she know that meat is death
Sundays in the cemetery we try to kiss the girls
but only in our thoughts
our big glasses separate us
we are the new and strange youth
we dream of things that nobody understands
we want more of life
in the early morning in our bunk beds
our hero Morrissey sings us to sleep
last night hope shone once
her dreams of home laid to waste
unlucky salt dash
*HAMP= The Home Affordable Modification Program (HAMP) is a government program introduced in 2009 to respond to the subprime mortgage crisis. (Wikipedia)
Willie and Big Daddy sat in front of the Seven Eleven from noon till about 4 in the morning except on Sundays when they went to church at the MM Willie had a four dollar a day sun flower seed habit with his Colt 45 Big Daddy liked to comment on women’s asses and cat call on the flaming tight boys who dressed like Duran Duran Willie had gone to Howard in the 70’s and when he wasn’t in psychosis we’d talk about Nijinsky Big Daddy would tell me about the bed bugs at his SRO on 7th and how the Good Lord had saved his life and when the drug dealers and pimps would try to entice me into their cars they would both roll their wheel chairs in front of me and dared them to fight and as time went by and i grew older Willie and Big Daddy faded into the brick walls with graffiti and no posted bills the three of us together were never like anyone thought we should be we just were and they both gifted me with alternate ways of understanding the world and breaking the chains
words less spoken 