Poem Up at Ariel Chart (Former People)
Poem Up at Ariel Chart : The Things We Draw On Mapas
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Wild Needle Raindrops
Wild Needle Raindrops It rained inside the bedroom. Outside these sea walls the day is a hot red knot. My body fills up with wet nouns. Silence has a light-blue Spanish accent. The men in my photographs drowned. Their cries of distress stopped breaking the water. I am a moist flesh statue. Lightning begins, embedded in my feet. The walls crawl with electricity. I doze off again listening to turtle music.
my body - tanka
my body, not a twilight sleepwalker, refuses the coffin- a rhino at the foot of my bed calls me by all my names
My body
My body is not a twilight sleepwalker. I've seen my body refuse its coffin, & a rhino at the foot of my bed calling me by all my names (as if it were The Dove ), & the red eyes of flesh, abandoned.
My favorite poem is up at CROW HOLLOW 19, Murder Four, Spring 2017
My favorite poem is up at CROW HOLLOW 19, Murder Four , Spring 2017
Opposing Conversations
Opposing Conversations If I stare at the wave, I turn-on the irony of oceanic depths. If I stop the air with my dead scaly skin, I break-into desolate barren places.
Wise Audiences
Wise Audiences When you're inside me i don't know if you laugh or if you come from boredom. if your tongue freshens or arrives from fever. i don’t know if what you search for on weekends exists inside me. i know life stretched out beneath your abs is the same as snakes and concurrent solitudes that correspond to the twinkling light where i can see you.
dead bird
dead bird wings spread out over the frost of my emancipation thought i heard chimes ring announce a vision of mine abandoned mid desert saguaros i opened my eyes lips for words that inhabit approaching bodies of dangerous animals i do not dare bite
Let's Stay Home and Watch a Movie
Let's Stay Home and Watch a Movie What else can I say? Blood gallops in the streets and inside the Whitehouse head first into the face of an office manager. Darts into the song of birds and inside the Malls downtown Blood bolts everywhere We're not safe in the bathroom, or buying chocolates! We need a bodyguard to go to the florist and if we dare say we want to visit a museum, uff We won't exist long enough to see we're in the Blue House that's no longer blue, nothing blue anymore, not even the sky Everything turned violently red blood sprinting in the streets like the dirty hands of the president like Red, Red Sunrise and Red Mary To see red houses, love, we don't need to go that far
Canto to Men
Canto to Men I sing to the destitute souls to their ancient lineage of shadows to the corpses of hope and foam of days Canto crisscrossed by absence wound of time that spreads to unarmed Mythologies shredded by crumbling hours when staring at you was always my design informed face of all my solitudes accomplice of the deepest silence I was once able to endure
Memory Lapses
Memory Lapses all the women I imagined had your face they were all you in their own way, I was you in my own way too free me from unfulfilled desire its useless worry its vain misery I don't understand your way of loving my love what do you love if you run away at last you have returned or you didn't leave or I didn't leave the fact is you're here & I don't know if I am
painted sea - a tanka, Japanese short five line poem
free me, disappearing island & painted sea, not from memory but from the light that is desire painted sea & disappearing island not from memory, from light that is desire― free me
He left like a
He left like a rambunctious whirlwind looked back smiling in silence wore well-laced boots did not forget the tears bent corners without dropping eyes no diminishing storms in site drew an ocean on his pale cheeks with all the pent-up pain I do not matter! a step behind the other’s back closed fist nibbled heart & swallowed rage spit lahars bit himself so many times that all he wanted was to hang bright stars while flocks of birds crossed moonlit skies
Muddy water
Muddy water you sent me your floating likeness it sloshed when you stomped the pool of water Slippery wet echo you sound like paper crushed by hard stone hands Your rusted teeth and muddy being breathe in air bite the memory that cannot return You chew on the tangle of stones and dirt splatter your conceited smelly self all over my page and profile
When Your Hearing Aid is Off
When Your Hearing Aid is Off Those rare eyes contemplate a grotesque city drowned in graffiti, tombstone for exquisite corpses. Where I come from people talk about sex to encourage laughter. All trust their genitals to the mouths of others. All. Trees are paper crematory urns, and water carries death camps in its oxygen. I'm deceived in believing I can rewrite all this pain. Having a clear conscience is a symptom of poor memory crowded between us as if it were the sole opinion as to what the meaning of facing each other to discriminate is.
