Mother Nature’s Revenge (2008)

What breathes beneath?
Blooming its vengeance
Life right from under
The under rug swept

What squirms beneath?
Mites and meats
The bugs under our feet
Roots that have ruined

‘tween ire and soil
The ignored and unknown
Polluted peonies and Rotten roses
Muddied with their malicious intent

Mother Nature has declared War on the US
No secretary of defense
To blow anything but a nose
What breathed beneath is starting to rise

The tenacious have been left for the tear gas
Women and children are crying too
The mass production begins
Advertisements, the tiny one-a-days, samples from the -stein’s & -bergs

X, Y’s & Z’s
Could cure us
From the sordid soil that breeds us

It all ends in explosion
“Bless You”


When the Dust Settles (2009)

All that was breeding underneath will come up. All that bubbled and brewed in your (sub)conscious mind and heart avenges what you’ve ignored. The dust and shards settle, frosting everything like a snowy sunday. But you can not, will not be fooled by its beauty because those shards do not rest easy. They poke out and cut my barefeet when I tip toe around it. Some days I make snow angels and you smile and say you love me. Shrapnel caught in my limbs bloody the new beginnings and we remember that it was never perfect. You shout that this time it must be fault, it is in fact my blood

Dragon Clouds (2008)

April 14

On the sweaty summer days of August
you were late and fragrant
a savior from ogling eyes
and cantankering 7 trains
that race like thoughts
there when you don’t need them and gone when you do
Smiling, a thought without a thinker
You turned me on to Buddhist thought

Remember this…
moments that seemed to slip between our nervous fingers
Remember these things
memories of good things, not yet bad things
and buddhist-tantric-in the moment forever things
Bearing gifts of guayaba pasteles and a smile that says “I’m sorry”
You turned me on to the end of the world
Renewing tragedy in eyes
that believed in daisies from concrete
believed in the softness of babies’ feet
Epiphanies on what it meant to sing
I want to hold your hand

When we slipped barefoot on slugs
and slapped flies off my thighs
Back in Claire’s garden with azaleas and cat piss
you illuminated with citronella candles
and tasted like clove cigarettes
As the summer sang right off our backs

You called me Summerland, your garden of Eden
Maybe you weren’t Adam but Eve
And you thought they sold five dollar bottles of peace
frankincense and myrrh on the F train
express-ing regret–always regret
And I thought you were the savior
Cassandra, like an oracle read salty jig-saw puzzle palms and said that you were poison

Remember the days of cloud watching
and rush-hour grime surfing
The day you showed me where it hurt
and I slept in your bed clad like a banana
in your yellow gym shorts
The day you said “Marry me”
the Islam way

The day I lost hope
I searched for it in the corners of your laugh when I spilled sprite the wrong way
the corners of crusted train cars
Searched for it in the scroll you wrote on Macys receipt paper
Couldn’t find it in dragon clouds
or the backseat of my father’s car
where you hated to love me
I drove it to the gardens but couldn’t find it in the hills
Searched for it in the smile lines of mi suegra
over burritos you’d love

You said I smelled like angels oughto smell
and entered me before asking

You turned me on to tragedy
Remember the day the titanic sunk

Nonpareil (2007)

Today I realized I couldn’t live without you

Your absence took my breath
I exhaled a lung
It grazed my heart as I wretched
It tasted just like you
Sweet like clove cigarette smoke
Smoke that soaks—its spiced with fire

My lung traveled through tunnels—core to tongue
And left trails of sweet talks on my chin
It teetered then toppled right off the table
And landed just left of my toes

Labored I gasped
Labored I rasped your name
Where are you lungs?
Caged in your greedy chest— your chest
Where caramel and custard skin first met
Your chest— where my doting head lay to rest

Clot crusted coughs
Bloodied with loneliness
My chest: a chasm
Aching and now gaping
You’re gone— you’re gone

Your absence took my breath

Today I realized I couldn’t live without you


Society is painfully depressing these days.  Ready to sell your souls to the inter-web?  Hearts are simply html tricks.   How can love be worth more than your Pentium Processor?  We are not taught to love like we are taught to type but touching tastes better on the tips of carpal tunnel ridden fingers because attention seeking is innate.   Internet blogging causes internet stalking.  Are you ready to sell your soul to the intwer-web? I said, Are you ready to sell your soul to the internet, [pay]pal?  But I am not a victim.  I am sadly a self proclaimed criminal of open armed typing.  Cheap poetic talks of broken hearts and past lives.   Nothing is realer than meeting your match one jpeg at a time.  What is a secret but a copy-pasted-fwd piece of gossip?   What is love but the ownership of a copy written webpage.  And who are you to judge a person with more time for an email than lunch?  People are painfully depressed with the real world and openly obsessed with the cyber world.  Lets face it reality [giga]bytes.  But money is time and I am a criminal.   So is it my place to point a dirty finger at a fashionable heart on your shoulder?  Or is it myspace to double click & upload your heart into a folder?   I am not a victim.  I am only a criminal enslaved into a telephone line.  I can type love faster than I could say it.   What is this anonymity that we accept before Jesus?  What are these lies we swallow before we can see this?  Less loved ones than people on your friend’s list.  It used to be man before machine but we’ve created it.  Somewhere in our hard drives, we rule.   We are not victims.  We are the creators of our future’s demise.  But as long as its my space, I rule.   People are painfully depressed and completely obsessed ready to sell their souls to the internet.

Years & Years

Today, I took a look back into a lot of my old writing. I thought it would be appropriate to share so that I could keep it all in one place. It seems my writing has always surrounded love and heartache. Something about my voice is inspired by these topics. At nearly 28, I have started to see a very clear tone and rhythm in the way I express myself through writing. I just wish sometimes, it was happier things that provoked my creativity. Perhaps, it took me so long to find happiness. More on this, another time. Let the reposts begin.

I don’t wanna be how they want me to be…

Life isn’t a bunch of shoulds and shouldn’ts. Why do we need to fit ourselves into a box? A box the bank owns, that owns us, that we pay for the rest of our lives. Living a death. Dying our lives, wishing away moments where we could lay beneath the sun with a drink in hand that makes us forget. Why do we need to do anything? Or live how they want us to live? The rhyme and reason for milestones and diamonds. Running on empty and running out of time. Always living to survive but never realizing that every breath we are granted is survival. What makes it all worth while, moments of smiles and laughter? Just moments? I want to trade in the security for light. I want to give away my stability for love. They say trees without roots fall down but tumbleweeds will reach farther than the shades of your leaves that leave you at the first sight of gray skies. What if there is no finish line? What about happiness as a lifestyle? What about love means that everyone should be okay before you are allowed to feel okay? What about faith makes sense? Look up with intention, talk with hope and listen with understanding. We need foundations to feel secure but what if we are our own foundation? Green is king of the paper world. Plastic and gold and platinum are more than flesh and blood. What is permanence but the impression we leave behind? Fossils for the history books of credit card numbers that took debt to the death. Meaning is what we make it. Make the meaning mean nothing. Let’s follow this road map for failure and fake smiles. Let’s own nothing but our bones and let them pump us with poison. I don’t believe in shoulds anymore. I’d rather take the path less chosen if that road leads me to love,