when i die i’m curious how my skull will look will i have all of my teeth my grave robbers won’t find gold will my nose holes be like a heart i wonder when i steam Botan i like to eat it hot with rice vinegar and a little toasted sesame seed oil how do you take yours love my toe nails well yeah they are a little chipped i guess i’ll get around to them soon this week lazy really no not true i just don’t think my toes are that important do you like my drawings i like the term avant gard between you and me that means i don’t have a rats ass worth of talent but if i pretend it’s a Polaroid of my soul with a few foreign words painted on the rich matron will buy it they love missed spelled words too makes them complete knowing they saved a wretch like me my hair yeah what’s wrong with it oh a nest really i ran my fingers through it when i washed it in the morning but do you think that they will put 10 pounds of mustard seeds in my skull or will the vandals toss it round my chop sticks feel crooked i better stop putting them in the dishwasher i suppose my tits yeah didn’t you hear about Newton’s law of gravity dude what is this by the way how’s your prostate been i’m a lady so i won’t speak of the southern-most half of your equator
homenaje moribundo
From my bleeding heart
Rain the cries of a bottomless love
In ardor and pain and sweetness from the guava fruits
Destined to wither and die on your ground
Angel of cruel deliciousness
Knocking on the broken door of my memory
As I agonize in the thought of your becoming eyes
Hell does circle me every day and brighter at night
Lady of the circulating endless ecstasy
Only you can allow me to die in peace
estimada novia de colores
en las garras de la pasión
mírame en los ojos
un color come el mío
te juro no los vas a ver
eres el suspiro de la vida
que nace y muere como la Coatlicue
quiero ser libre en tu prisión
y nunca escapar dulce peregrina señora del altar
de las cosas más sagradas en su naturaleza perversa
píntame con tu arco iris
columnas de nuestros padres
las madres ya no van
y siguen su camino
quiero que hagamos amor
en Saturno
y con uno de sus anillos
hacerte mi esposa
social worker
in the dawn
when bodies intercross
that stage of simultaneous
exhaust and regeneration
my mind becomes of another plane
where the primitive fears
gargle up before i can close my third eye
my getting beat or a fork in the road without its tines
i wake for a few millennial seconds
then heavy weariness weighs me down again
smelling Jewish rye bread toasting
i’m at the house on Rodney street
wearing my mother’s clothes
and my lips sewn shut
phone alarm buzzes on
and the cats start to call me mama
slowly i rise
unconsciously tap my lips
while dragging my feet
to the bathroom mirror
another day in hell
and all i got is a cup of ice chips
no egos need apply
tranquil 3:48 p.m. cemetery
exposed roots and i lay my head
on them inhaling the stink of rot
coming from the moisture
entwined in their wood
like cells and chromosomes
the lawn lush and cool
flower beds the brightest
colors in nature’s pupils
jeweled hovering insects
with class and personality
perhaps we are in the place
where not only the dead
come to rest
below the soil
a natural process
holy if you will
is taking place
God’s created flesh
returns to its forewarned state
i can’t imagine it would
appeal to me if i saw it
i then wonder would God’s
face appeal to me too
i focus back on the scents
around me
green aquatic a fowl or six
fried chicken knock off perfumes
car exhaust a hookah oxtail stew
and i think again
behind the pedi-cured beauty
underneath my resting fleshy bones
resides the biological truth
no egos need apply
for Chabela’s grave stone
the old path to the
gray green river holding gold
steps of ghosts fade off
mercantile store stands
empty and devoid of blood
by the railroad’s end
youthful eyes smiling
bright pigtails full of petals
soul in pretty dress
on 4th street
when the dogs got tired
and laying on the floor
perfectly brown and gold spots
little Dachshund legs
stretch out but just a few centimeters long
and green eyed kittens by the door
wild shooting whiskers
like the sky on fourth of July
looking for big momma’s kitty teats
then we all look up at the window
simultaneously in time
although i’m just passing
through an old aunt’s borrowed room
the whistle of the train
needled through my soul
and they perfect holy and beautiful
yawn at the sound of the force
nobody told pop there’d be days like this
we listen to agent orange when were pissed leave us alone don’t come in to the room our eyes are bloodshot with rage and shrooms it comes like a wave of lava and we thrash the place cut our arms on broken bottles there they are behind in the closet leave us alone if you know what’s good for you why do you tell us what to do when you back stab your neighbors and talk about fools we demand to go back to mutti’s we don’t give a fuck what your judge says hey asshole we’re just a kid not your self-righteous toilet paper wad to wipe your evil ass with we listen to agent orange when were pissed and the neighbor called the fire department cus the front windows shattered on account of the sonic geetar’ licks and surfer grooves oh we forgot to mention the baseball bat from out in the patio and your girlfriend’s mirrors are shattered into as many bits as apologies you owe to me fuck yeah we’re still pissed and we will always scream as long as you won’t hear me
baseless essence
mirrors slates to the eyes
cold blood hot cries
in the forests of wires
camping for leisure
in soul of one who
was once a beauty
now the dump
they along with the trash
typhus and the brass pipes
in the underground
akin to the bony
once strong legs
of our fathers
stones from her river
are epoxy sold in bags
at the mostly made in China
flower and craft shops
we and they still people
we are flesh
twenty nine doors down
we also have botulism
to soothe the angst
of those whose spirits
have been mislead
to look inside the slate
and not see
the true worth of their inner glow
the four letter kit
mind your etiquette and dress you tarty mess alcoholic in wedding veil left to rot in obscurity behind SS Kress dumpster fiendish queen of violent dream three tours in the cardiac desert come home we’ve no passion for your kind that’s ok i take what i can get karma super bitch with pretty face we get what we deserve my mind is just a wasteland one step two step five step six look down at the sky while the air hits my feet swirling up blood drops on the cuff rational decisions are best served late into the night the bats are hiding near in the tall and ancient magnolia trees with falling fruits into the stream of all thought that crosses here insanity wears lace and stirs that flames of cold remorse of atomic fences way up on the hill hashtags for all reasons but what’s the use if we all like to market pain for glamour and enrichment and my teeth go down the drain
atheist riot
warm Sunday
City Hall lawn
young people
bright yellow
biker shorts
we too
sit there
moving slowly
watching smiling
at the
busy gnats
we drank
sour beer
sharing one
warm can
that took
three hours
to buy
our sisters
a yard
away talking
and pouting
smacking lips
laying out
their tired
patchwork skirts
they twirl
bottle cap
rosaries between
their stained
fingers etched
with cuts
and cracks
the brothers
coming out
of trance
acknowledge that
nothing here
will change
too many
men on
the job
too many
brains and
greedy wallets
planning our
fate and
we all
look up
at the
trumpeting birds
and we
rise in
arthritic waves
even though
were under
thirty one
and in
a hallelujah
arm stretch
above our
messy heads
our sisters
break out
in harmony
as their
washed out
bone bleached
bracelets jangle
snapping fingers
send a
thanks to
the heavens
the brothers
do a
little dance
and onlookers
stop to
stare with
smirking eyes
and jaded
quips against
the humble
family on
the lawn
who can
only address
God outside
of hypocritical
sanctimonious walls
words less spoken 