Friday, November 29, 2013

tanka

deceived,
once again misled—
it’s the pain
of loving someone
who doesn’t want you back

Thursday, November 28, 2013

tanka

crickets
and dragonflies—
the sage
ask that you understand

there is a beast within you

tanka

touched
by water, a spring...
touched blindly
to dress his wound,
the injury of being

Cuando ya no contestas mis llamadas

Cuando ya no contestas mis llamadas


Al final
tu cuerpo
se apodera
de la memoria.

De una mente
que no existe
no hay nada
que confiscar.

Tristeza

Tristeza

Se funde la luz de tu vida
sin embargo esto no es una plegaria
ni un reclamo de herencia
no consigue ser ni una disculpa, tampoco es un adiós
la casa que me arrancaron sigue viva—


visitada devotamente por sus muertos.

Wednesday, November 27, 2013

tanka

page after
page of blank torsos
longing—
even the weathervanes
look happy

Shadows

Shadows


unusual bird
furious to free himself
from his hatred
of moral negligence—
he’ll drift home quietly

his ghost
will darken soon enough
and loom
through new snow,
he’ll sit down alone by the river

whittling a root
he’ll say nothing
as the waters
flow—just think, think
of his wedding day

Sunday, November 24, 2013

tanka



I had surgery on Friday.  Today I wrote this tanka,  it has been changed into a tanka sequence.  It was accepted for publication.  I was thrilled.


Coming Out


shrouded in mist
I wear a torn place
on my sleeve —
turning like a mirror
on a string

a key
in a lock,
I have
no more tongue
than a wound

beads
of an abacus—
the shed skin
of a snake remembers
what it once held

calculating
all the ways I numbed myself
casting minute
after minute into the wind . . .
taking off the mask

Wednesday, November 20, 2013

tanka



the past 
had its magic . . .
its silent, 
yet crowded, shore of ships 
whose freight was everything

Monday, November 18, 2013

tanka

he reeks
of the grave—
a terror
more barbarous than

the hiccups of a dying dog

Friday, November 15, 2013

Caminé

Caminé
para Abniel Marat

Quiero corroer los busques
que desataron la lluvia
con vientos mutilados
para bañarme de sal,
porque soy faro de lo indefinido
y traficó voces de ausencias,
murallas de esqueletos
que contrabandean libertad.

Mi tierra es un poema
que da sombra a los ilegales
pensamientos de una noche
perdida entre tu tiempo antillano, y
el sol lleno de cámaras transita
sobre mi piel como un fantasma
que reclama lo suyo con evidencia.

Caminé al frente de los ecos
de mi huida hacia un corazón
disfrazado de delirios teatrales
con mi historia arrugada y mi
amor negro bailando la intensidad
del jazz.  Recorrí tu cuerpo con mi sangre
revolucionaria dejando huellas
profundas sobre tus ojos color canela.


Thursday, November 14, 2013

tanka

desire falls 
across my body 
like cherry blossoms . . . 
never allowing the traffic 
to smother it with noise

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

tanka

how imprecise 
the smell of desire . . .
my solitude 
is the guise of unending 
repetition of a hanging 

Saturday, November 09, 2013

tanka

thirteen ways
of looking at a skylark . . .
after death
the poor have a better view,
as the dead cross over into song

Wednesday, November 06, 2013

tanka

now and then
a smell of grass
displaced
by fear—no sight,
no sound, no touch, or taste

Tuesday, November 05, 2013

tanka

burning alive
with mad devotion—
is it better 
to anticipate love 
or to age alone

Sunday, November 03, 2013

Nobility of Blood

Nobility of Blood


Dear Lord, this Thanksgiving
all the drug-lords promise
to thank you for AIDS, although
it has not made them transcend
into the 21st century. They are
still caught up in superficial things
like money, BMWs, and killing.
We thank you for tent evangelists,
brothers and sisters alike,
breeders of hate crimes,
that reject the perfect beauty
of homemade remedies
and blood transfusions.
Lord, forgive my arrogance
toward the medical community
and appoint faith healers
to pharmaceuticals. Dear God,
thank you for allowing me to live
on the periphery of society,
where nobody asks yet everybody
tells.  Thank you for the innocent
illusion of my open exhibitions
of affection toward Omar. Thank you
for the rapid spread of HIV 
in Africa, where water, food,
and medical supplies have always
been scarce or costly, where rape
and violence towards women
is beyond control, where children
have no choice but to fight
for brutal warlords, where life
and death no longer belong to You.
Somalia, have you learned to die?


Saturday, November 02, 2013

Me dejó atrás

Me dejó atrás—
Fue la distancia
de tu cadáver
que perforó un agujero
dónde estabas tú.

Fue el imaginarse
esa inimaginable travesía . . .
Mi Ulises
sin cuerpo
sin Ítaca.

Fue ese tácito clima
al que nos referimos cuando
no hay más voz
ni consuelo
en nuestra morada.

Fui yo
al no saber cuál cuerpo
tu tomaste
en mis sueños—
yo, deseando más que una visión.

Fue el no querer clausura,
una memoria sencilla,
el desvanecerse de tu voz,
tus ojos,

la calidez de tus brazos.

Friday, November 01, 2013

tanka

in the hallway of life
you were a bougainvillea
with no thorns . . .
I, the caretaker sweeping
away the fallen petals


Blog Archive

Followers