the water around the
tunnel
does not let out until noon.
while the flies wait,
dirty fruit from last night poses.
the news has not changed
my image is wrinkled still.
DTLA
dysthymia
Gehenna
i lived another day in you to drown
and what is here before me drowns again
your buildings fall under my feet and birds
flock in this eve of raging guideless light
i love you in my bones to beg for luck
and mercy from a god or anyone
who finds my deadly skin on the edges
of confusion upon the deserts of the found
profundo
en las calles veo lo que pasa
los niños juegan y gritan
en cada cabezita una revolución
listo para nacer o seguir
en sus tiendas veo los rostros
de padres, hijos, tíos, primos, hermanos
ojos con desiertos
manos que construyen pirámides modernas
en sus manos veo lo que es sufrir
llorar sin hacer un ruido reír sin sentirse con gusto
sonar sin esperanza
y en su corazón perder su latido
nas ruas vejo o que acontece
as crianças brincam e gritam
em cada cabezita uma revolução
pronto para nascer ou seguir
em suas lojas eu vejo os rostos
de pais, filhos, tios, primos, irmãos
olhos com desertos
mãos que constroem pirâmides modernas
em suas mãos eu vejo o que é sofrer
chore sem fazer um barulho rir sem se sentir como
som sem esperança
e no seu coração perder o seu batimento
in the streets i see what happens
children play and shout
in each little mind a revolution
ready to be born or to follow
in your stores i see the faces
of fathers, sons, uncles, cousins, brothers
eyes with deserts
hands that build modern pyramids
in their hands i see what it is to suffer
cry without making a noise laugh without sound
dream without hope
and in your heart lose your heartbeat
old soul
before
sunrise on the tidy bed
the bones fall tired
and heavy like wet wool
the prayers on the lips
of the child somehow morphed
into typed babble via stained
finger tips of the woman hand
then there’s the moon
descends with grace
and feet touch the floor
of another tomorrow
Civil War
time travels fast when i need her more
and she, the infinite sadist
moves slow when i need the pain to go
the shapes of the universe linger
slightly to the west affording neither light
-nor shade-
the children offspring bastards
of antiquity cradled in a grave
and clouds of hated Gods are formed
to see
who can wave
their cloth the highest
phi
fire
powder
soot blind
in city smog
machines west bound fast pace
in a slow sacrificial lane to an edge
where do my brothers stand and do my sisters still weep for
what?
i an old child raised on Hollywood schemes TV land and reruns
nursed on bitter milk of a fork tongued script
raised by bumper sticker testament as the spirit and the law
mingles between tithes and taxes Lord and Caesar bedfellows
of the host parking meter temples DMV vaticans bus bench
prayer ritual before dawn
re-issue of pedigree from the DSMV bible while marked on the
tender restless soul with the selective serotonin reuptake
inhibitor sigil
where do my sisters run and do my brothers still see what
for?
runway to the sunset where the wind rests
wings are made of gold
thoughts fly away
flicking grace
silent
ratios
Berakah to Broadway
my favorite hour is at 3:07 a.m. your ramblers are spent. the streets are hot with discontent and happiness. your building walls are tired. there is hope and despair. the lights flicker off and off and sometimes on. dear Broadway i love you so. i want to drop dead on your asphalt and sink in forever. your silent strength feeding and nourishing all staggers of life. days are lived fast upon you. the letters, the pictures, the breaths, the gasps; cultivator of all that. your façade oozing with corporate swag, but your soul, your spirit profound, pure, wild and capricious, like a beautiful woman. i want to roll in your soot, trip on your cracks and see your ghosts who lived in you and of you, my beloved Broadway. speak easy of my dreams, mistress keeper of my veins in your dark little alleys. i love you so Broadway. i want you all to myself, no man, woman or creature can have you. you are my mother, when no one is willing to be. you are my father when all are too cowardly. you gave me karate movies, 8-tracks and joy. you gave me advice, caution and wisdom. you are my mistress, chancellor of my education and intuitions. you are my eyes into the past that lingers in my most penultimate remembrances as a child falling down by your fire hydrant. to you, who has always been the only one who understands my twistedness and carcinomatous fevers, i write to you fair goddess, keeper of myself. i love you so my beloved Broadway. thank you for keeping me in your implorations.
wound
the layers disappear
on the pavement
of her soul
seconds go by and precious
life spills on leaving
opportunities and choices
there is little time in each quandary
before the bell rings and the
arrow picks a destination
sweet and bitter most of
all
through the soil
are the roots
and as they reach
the point of end
the layers are
healed
but she is not the same
bowing out
the electricity is shut
and gone forever.
the eyelid dried out;
no more light will filter.
and the laughter lost
in a cave far down from here.
time was not enough dowry
to change the unchangeable.
i must be content with
having failed.
i, with no wealth of any
particular blue bloodline
could not offer you
anything other than
what God saw fit.
in the chasm
of the voices, it does
not really matter.
don’t employ any foreboding
on dejected smiles.
words less spoken 