Taino el de abajo

the room is sterile

free from any love germ

only the tiny beasts of whatever

perfect in nature are adored here

in this sterile cold dry room

my gut told me

“She passed.”

referring to the death of an aunt

i hardly knew

i don’t feel grief

not yet

and

as i explained to my-self

some people might never feel it

to mourn loss is difficult

to mourn loss of a loved one is hard

to mourn for and carry a heavy heart for an enemy

is tougher

i don’t feel such loss for the masculine things in life

as i do for the feminine

to have had a physical mother

never to have experienced an emotional mother

or spiritual mother

has been loss

yielding veils of survival

darning lies as i went along

because for this ride

you must be tough

to have had to rip my addiction demons

from me without a cowboy’s hickory stick

to bite on

while all of Murphy’s laws

chose to shred themselves

has left a raw gaping hole

in my crippled soul

yet there is a certain life-long journey

a chipping away of the spirit

the grief polishes

nearly to transparency and vulnerability

that fake shine as seen on t.v.

we can certainly fight

for all our lives

against this erosion

but we will not win

in my age

i can now see

the entirety of who Taino was

what he meant to me

i could not

in my youth

see that deeply yet

*dedicated to Jose Montoya POET

questions

what is it like to sit in silence and hear the sounds of ocean waves playing

what is it like to face the sun and feel the wind cool and soft

what is it like to have lightness and to feel the colors of sea glass through my pores

and why is it that the dock doesnt move me to sleep and instead
i grip with my soul

afraid to drift away

finally relieved

my sister later said
that when mother left
the tears on her velvet cheeks
were like lily petals
time has passed
on most days when
i notice myself in the mirror
memories of her voice and sorrow
crowds my day 
by eve’s time
sitting alone on the porch
some plump flying angel
will rustle up the honey suckle
and a vision of mother i can feel
quiet resting finally relieved

Yu

engine speaks in tongues at times

pulls into the soul

stops dusty clotted roads

the time to move was now

like a parade

on protest days

green mile flowers

line the way

sun kisses face alone

under hood hoses roar

radio delivers telegrams

from simpler times

and long ago

trails like waiting mothers

daughter shacks lined down

their shack feet shoed with poppies

ruby slippers anti-Hollywood style

ghost maidens sell red berries

for crows atop the Joshua trees

for me to feed

can’t stand tall

only in awe

dream catch spider web

crystals for tiny arachnid queens

their king hides under the rocks

wind fingers my aging hair

cowlicks everywhere

magnetism from Her core

presses on my mouth

and leaves a score

locked in me

are secrets stored

warriors express on Her behalf

not because they deem Her less

but because She is too sacred

for this place where i come from

thursday morning

it’s cold
fog morning
cemetary waking up
birds pitch black
mean beaks hell song
yellow eyes like jewels at antique store
flowers stand at ease
giants among the remains of someone’s mother
peace thriving in the land of make believe
worms yawn loudly
slipping in the dew
sky pewter gray
tufts of pink and baby blue
like your dilated pupils
that still seep into my miserable days lowering the golden bamboo blinds
the strong black coffee obsidian in my cup
gaping for molasses
amber golden brown from Canada
Neil Y nameless horses guitars and essence of sand
i sip and i wonder

north beach

i dreaming on the couch
will meet you at Jack’s alley
doo wop were the days
when you let the voices out of their cage a movement of freedom
within the confines of infinite youth
all are welcome and there you go
climbing up the stair to heaven
on steps of words one atop another
city light bay we the beat and stray
hipster pharaoh usher to the generation drunk in experimental experience at night morning sober in stark madness
busses flowers LSD plus the three
i’ll wait in tenderloin scribbling
hieroglyphs on chewing gum wrappers catching whispers in the wind with flowers in my hair
paper cuts betwixt the webs of my hands
snap the jazz between the streets
my shoe untied my notebook knowing
that smile i do when missing you

RIP Lawrence Ferlinghetti