And so, while Hands / Maps / Home is not directly about Gaza and settler violence in the West Bank, the poetry, prose and art is about humanity. We believed collecting this work together as evidence of humanity and all that encompasses was vital in a world where it seems lacking. This anthology houses identity, […]
Hands / Maps / Home (sneak peek!)
how do i tell the Moon that her Venus is gone
far from everything we know high away past the Pleiades and the Milky Way but always in the vicinity of higher power
how do i tell the Moon that her Venus is gone way past forever yet eternally interwoven in star dust and holy silent breaths caressing her head after she’s wept too much
how do i tell the Moon that her Venus is of such love magnitude that we can’t see her as she holds us in her loving arms ebbing and flowing us warmly in her arms
i like my clouds with some wires
memories of kindergarten
Franklin’s kites and keys
corduroy jackets pigtails
i like my sky with blue infinity
endless forever high up
United Nations NPR
Joe Strummer high gas prices
wires are reminders to my eyes
finish lines running away from
eventually crossing them
grinning old girl am i
blue inks on papers change
trajectories of lives
bars in language community
null void twisted noise
clouds pure shamanic puff
feeding the ducks in Lincoln Heights
remember those we lost
immortalized on walls
ironically in life that’s all they’ve known
wires clouds blue sky songs
baking bread train track grease
cool wind cigarette butts
let my mind be silent today
on a rainy day the stink rises rancid savory industrial primordial sweet modern
within the pillars of great society
here i am with my outcasts
we together in all of it
on most days to suffer is a blessing
a day at the spa a swim in a lake
around here on most nights
they medicate howling with ecstasy
oblivion in concert
first the rush of light heavenly usurped glory
then dark matter throughout the hallways
prophesies racking up
at the end of the runway conveyor belt
of fucked up lives
merely bonded by a lighter spark
there is nothing there
my steps counted silently
the moon hides laughing
trees line the street
i hear women talking
the men stand aside
the entrance is behind
choosing to leave alone
without a choice again
sting of your lips
my mouth it burns
mind is quietly alert
the smile and hyacinth
you brought were shattered
on Spring street’s breath
no use in waiting
i changed my digits
although i said i’d stay
there next to the receiver
i wised up your touch so nice
you needed me you said
on your wall trophies
paintings of the ones who
you needed before
it’s ok i’m an adult
i have my trophies too
night always at night my mind wanders seeking shelter in fantasy of golden palm trees and crystal blue waters
day everyday my brain drags on a few synapses tell me to move out of the way before somebody knives me
night long drawn out my gut churns mouth waters reminiscing on mommas apple cobbler and the sweet cinnamon scent of her apron as i held her
day bright from sunny sky as i stand in line styrofoam tray pre wrapped subs carton of milk served by shaming eyes that pity me
night the thirsty dark i hear war cries grunts deep gurgles women sobbing a junkie last breath
day with hint of rhythm oozing out from stands on the rainbow flower vendors block Smokey Robinson was my guy
night twinkles with pookie pipes bic lighters and trash bin fires i notice star parallels in the sky milky way shavings and rogue morning stars
day depending on the block my sights may fall on sleeping babes cradled by loving arms or come upon the sight of a Coroner’s tent with one less soul inside
walls beige and rainbow
thoughts amulets news casts
codes hushed by traffic
sometimes theres eyes awake
forever saluting the sun
prayers in LA dialect
if you know signs
if you dont why
music pain laughter light
mayhem fun petty crimes
stop sometime look above
release the delusional wish
it starts in a flash
we never notice here because
its expected that we agree
to live like this without
complaint and a dosed smile
to be docile and meek
sometimes with fanfare great they
come inspect frown tear up
leave talk into microphones their
grief that its come to
this and then get rushed
to mansions before dinner time
words less spoken 