tears evaporate
leaving behind memories
i stand on wet sand
In Memorium
anticipation haiku
the thoughts are balled up
pulsating and cruel they come
tonight my eyes weep
don’t want marching saints no more
I don’t smoke anymore. I don’t pay attention anymore. I don’t do much anymore. Anymore matters not to anyone. It’s been about two weeks. There is a foggy dream pricking at my waking reality. There is a politeness as to not give away who I am, and who we are, and what we are not made of. Orion’s Belt has lost another Queen Sister. Look up, see? The castle shines less than it did about fourteen days ago.
Sitting next to me, he, young and professional talked to you about developing a plan for hope. Sitting next to me, your cracked yellowed fingers, stiff like frankincense resin, shuffled through your last official systematic memoir, but he and I didn’t know. Did you know? Or did you know you couldn’t go on? Your blue framed reading glasses made of plastic were spotty and needed a scrub. Your skin ashy and hair matted into a bun, those fingers searching for that someone who told you that you were fine so that we could tell you too
We met on St. Valentine’s, you tried with all of your might on St. Habet-Deus and laid yourself to rest on St. Alvaro’s soiree. Yet, when the old timer hard core practicing apostles hailed St. Polycarp, I stood looking at the west atop the building’s nest with my back to your door sealed by the authorities of science and service.
haiku for KG
so
the
dark
came
rapid
stinging
in
a
flash
gone
but
you
took
my
name
nyuk nyuk nyuk haiku

today i placed a
stone upon your head and i
was a child again
the yellowing cranes
the riverbed is cool the cranes have a yellowish belly but are beautiful nevertheless there are bleached soda cans but the logos hang strong against the California sun i sit by the reeds and watch the Chinese couple dig in the mud for long lost jewels they explain the husband is originally from Kansas she says i watch on until pitch black leathery little birds with mean diamond tinged eyes and beaks yellow like egg yolks begin to crowd around catching tadpoles one stands on a mossy Takis bag on the trail bicycles travel north to south and vice versa i only see helmets from my shivering reeds somewhere by the train yard an old trash truck backfires and the mean little black birds lift up into the sky like a flamenco dancer’s skirt my eyes pause at the rim of Dodger stadium and out of nowhere my mind drags me to the summers eating sticky juicy watermelon slices with my sister as the grown ups drank howled and listened to the game on an old radio from their army days and now i wonder if they died knowing that some day i would be leisurely sitting by these LA River reeds sipping fancy tea watching treasure hunters and fancy bicycle helmets wiz by and are the yellowing cranes the souls of our lost boys from the Hanoi Hilton
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
tanka for Charlie
mystic of boom bang
identity of our gang
pounder of fire
ask Elvis how’s he’s doing
while leading Heaven’s house band
RIP Charlie Watts
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
haiku for Lou
almost
midnight
lipstick
gone
cigarette
smoke
melody
doo doo doo
*happy birthday Lou hope heaven is perfect and smack Andy and Dr. Seuss on the ass for me