I am a Black Star

I was born the day you died,
thirty one years ago—
I was reborn when you died,
yesterday mourning.
It all started eighteen months ago:
our slow death.

I Bow to you, master smith of universes,
Mighty Goblin Disco King.
You pass the torch on to the world
waiting for the next Black Star to shine,
we are many, a legion of your children
all awoken by the changes in your persona
arranged movements of your beauty
all spoken, sung, made into discourse
of falling walls, bullies pushing,
drugged out evenings, dancing china queens.

I breathe, because I once saw the light which took you,
it said that it would be hard
it said it would be difficult
yet I know it was love which spoke to me,
it was love you went towards,
it is where we all go,
Us, Black Stars.

This is the ebb of the tide of our love

I asked her if she was going to sell her body again
she said she didn't want to talk about it right then
so there was something to talk about
something to be aired

It wasn't hard to figure out,
she was making ends-meet when I met her
then once we hung out
she told me of all the evil things in her life

her boss who is always asking for head
because he said he needed to get off
it made him feel better, she said
his balls hurt, it was the clap

when I first noticed it
I showed her what was going on
she thought that always happened
that it was normal in all men

before I had gone to her work,
because she invited me to
every day she said I made her feel safe
for two whole months.

She was still working,
not making enough money
although the designs all went out
she made a measly dollar per

though when she staid on
without me there
doing her deed in the bathroom
she could pay
for her babys' food and then some

so she told me one day
it is over
that is that, I cannot have this with you
She got new clothes and make up

Her shoes were also new
everything about Her changed
Her demeanor towards me
there was another man

other men
the smell on her, the ebb
in her
unnatural

clap
slow
patient
rising out and through

and that fucker told her it was normal
for your dick to drip like that
and she believed him
bringing it into our bedroom

I loved her
with every ounce of my being
although with this betrayal
I could only learn to forget her

and these realizations were just the beginning...

And she's a Moon, Cosmic.

Thinking about her

seems redundant

for her own existence

is but a figment

of her own imagination.

She's lived a thousand lives

worn a million faces

with each mask falling

from her broken facade

to show the ruins left behind

from the drugs and selling herself

so that men may have their kicks

so that she may make the bills

to pay for the little one who waits

back home to get sick from her breath

covered in the cum of her clients,

Still she wonders why her family gets so sick,

why her child is always ill sleeping next to her at night,

why her parents always look at her

with eyes so empty–

because they know what she does

in the bathroom stall of the print shop

bending over to show how well she's studied

and done her kegels to please the men.

Her parents know

that she drugs unwilling parties

with the help of the dwarf

to make her wallet bigger,

but what she doesn't remember

is if the coffee he's brought her

was dosed with scopolamine or not

sometimes she's curious

why her pussy aches,

why her chest pounds,

why her neck is sore,

why her head hurts–

scopolamine, burundanga.

He rapes her

when he doesn't want to pay her

she's okay with it

she's fine

she's a good girl

when she's on her knees,

her aching knees,

when she's bent over the toilette

getting pounded from behind

by yet another

and another

and another and another

and another and

another

and

another

and another,

she's fine with it

it's what she's been taught

what she's been made to be

what the drugs have done

what the desperation led her to:

becoming a tool for the pleasure of others.

Her Eyes Shone Like An Accretion Disk

She speaks to me in code
with the way everything came back
the memories
of nights at that bar just talking,

chatting, asking to just imagine
how blessed one must be
to be able to teach someone
to make love again.

Then I didn't know
I was completely unaware of it,
I had never had that chance
and never thought I would get.

Until I met you
and we went into that room
where we took off most of our clothes
making love without kissing.

We talked afterwards
you looked at my tattoos
I looked at your lips
the gap in your thighs

We didn't get to exchange numbers
but I looked for you there
many times
many many times

and you probably saw me
but you didn't let me know

I wanted to love you
something inside me just
wanted to love you
all I really wanted

Time passed, washing away
what happened that night
putting it in the back of my head, memory
where I never suspected it would come back.

So we met that day
9 months later
and you pretended, as
I pretended

like it had never been.

We saw each other
not 15 hours later
to catch a movie
about gentlemen with umbrellas

I touched your hand
I held it in mine
and from that moment
You had me.

I didn't care where I'd met you
before, on the streets
all I could see was that beautiful being
there, inside your eyes.

Flickering screen turned into flickering dance floor
we moved, swinging to the music
and just as the place closed
I kissed your lips

Then just outside on 23rd I kissed you,
then on 17th and 6th
again on 15th and 6th
all the way to 12th and 6th

Until you came up to my place,
invited because I knew your friends,
we talked about this night
then we went to my bed

I touched your skin softly
making amends where I could
stitching together the gaps
in your corporal heart.

Tearing my own out
undoing years of slowly sowing
stitches together, I found you
but you unraveled into a lie

with the Cinnamon water
blessed by a priest
sprinkled inside the corners
offering to open up some truths

which just came pouring out
like a sickness slowly dripping
to the sound of meeting hands
painful globes and wretched stench

of the truth leaking out.
She said it was normal
to feel this way
I said it was a terrible way to live.

She said I'd taught her
how to make love again
feeling herself in the moment
not having to forget.

For that I am thankful
because that night
so many years ago
sitting at that bar in Coral Springs

Sour Girl and I had our chance meeting
without much do or say
we were dancing around each other
like stellar bodies nearing decay.

You spoke truths
words that echoed through time and space
did I not listen well enough?
Where were you from?

Live Long and Prosper.

"No, sabe que? Todo bien." Ella dijo.

It is a brand new day!
Gracias por las lecciones
De nada por las lecciones
I loved every minute inside you

De tus ojos
Y aun asi
me hayas dejado
quemando por dentro,

Estoy feliz.
I am happy,
because it didn't feel right
towards the end there.

It became something of a joke,
My love for you.
Que Dios os bendiga a los pecadores
Ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte,

Amen!

Que sigamos resando
por perdones ajenos, queriendo
momentos prestados
nunca devueltos.

Cambio de papeles
Click Click Click Click
Alma capturada digitalmente
The Ghost In The Shell, it

Whispers sweet nothings
to an ear eager to please, just then
emotions become toys
la lengua en la oreja.

There is something to be ware of:
Te ame.
Verdaderamente lo hice,
pero eso fue, y no sera.

En el nombre del Padre,
del Hijo, y del Espiritu Santo.

Eviceral

That moment when you feel something cold and distant in your bones, when the pit of your stomach falls to depths unknown, and all you can do is watch processions of emotions crawling their way down your throat.


Eviceral.

Happy Green Trees

Sun shines through leafy green trees, all lined up on street medians cutting the black asphalts poignant composition upon what once was their home. Lined up, one by one, they wait in silence. There is little that they say to one another, besides the usual whispers carried by the wind. Last year it was the passing of a beautiful oak tree near the intersection of ninth and 32nd ave. There was a bit of an explosion as the internal combustion engine of the Maserati slammed against the ancients bark. Flames over took this majestic being and burnt every bit of green, the fire burned for over an hour before the fire department put it completely out. By this time though, the beautiful green was gone from this one tree in particular, and its bark damaged. This is when the city decided that the trees were much to dangerous... or rather, the money of the Maserati's owners thought so. Their child, who'd been driving intoxicated wasn't to blame, not at all! Rather, it seemed more fitting for the trees to be blamed, after all they didn't have twelve lawyers and the backing of a family fortune that spans over generations. No, the tree was definitely to blame. As soon as Mrs. X showed up in the office of the mayor on that morning, the trees knew what was to come. Soon they had all kinds of little people climbing on top, tying themselves to their giant branches. This was all so surprising to them! They were unable to move, and had mostly decided that if they were to die then what best place than that very spot where they were born, next to their brethren and fellow trees. Some of the humans though, some whom they'd known as children crossing the street, brushing their hands against the strong bark, made it clear they appreciated their shade and free oxygen by spending entire days and nights at their trunk to make sure no one hurt them. Eventually the rich family gave in, and decided that it probably wasn't such a good idea to cut down such majestic beings, who had often covered their subtle and fragile skin from the sun as they drove in their convertibles down ninth. They bought out the street, built a bridge by-pass, and allowed the trees to grow and have even more friends and green around them. It was beautiful.

This story is fiction, all of it. Even the way in which humans behave, that is also fiction. It's all fiction, the whole thing. This makes me sad.

Possibilities are endless, but tell that to a corpse.

In the moments between sleep

with the shades drawn and

allowing just glimmers of sunlit

reflections of an everlasting green

that seeps its way onto walls

well known and forgotten,

breaths escape from lips

which are too tired for anything or anyone.

In between the covers

there is a corpse,

or soon to be at least,

and as a mind winds down to moments

captured and preserved

in formaldehyde filled jars

stacked around the room,

the realization strikes

that these memories

just don't taste the way they used to,

a realization made

as this bed which was

kinder to passions untold

becomes a coffin

once the covers wrap around

to keep and swallow whole

in the warmth and knowledge

of being dead to the world.

Dead to SourGirl.

Second round of publications

This is my second time being published in the publication P'an Ku, a bi-yearly publication for Broward College.

The Needle

Every time the needle tears through her flesh

to find that jumbled mess she likes to call a vein

it is her soul which slowly seeps out in amber drops

down her arm, pressure tied off by a tourniquet.

In order to forget the pain left behind by heavy hands

to extinguish flames burning so bright

that only the milky waters of the river Alf

may extinguish her core in an explosion

of eternal ecstasy
an orgasm
meant to last an eternity

but only felt for a few minutes

because nothing is eternal,

only pain is.

He wanted to hold her but he knew she was not aware

of her nature and way of being.

That her own life was inundated with the facts

that she was not like the rest of them

and quite aware she still pushed away

those who understood and were willing to help

to understand how life can be and is, 'cos

when the world is a jigsaw you need to put it together.

He knew what she was and it scared her

he saw through her skin

onto the punctured veins

and it scarred her.

It never ceased to amaze him
her beauty eternal

the way eyes glowed in the light of the moon

tender fingers ran over scar tissue

soft kisses invaded her body

as he gave of himself to her.

Because it is no the way we think it is

not as if life has everything set up.

it is chaos in a civilized society

set up to illuminate the cauldrons of reality

with the hearth of hearts
beating strongly against one another

as she soaks her panties under her clothes

he grows inside his boxer shorts

both kissing on a couch

late at night

as her hair falls over his face

and she pulls upon his dreads.

 She drags him to the bedroom

and takes her pants off

as he grabs her from behind and with one hand

buried in her crotch

feels the rivers of love flowing fast

his cock jumps
she grabs it behind her

squeezing as it pulses, she turns around

penetrates his mouth with her tongue.

She sit's back onto the bed

legs spread, one hand saying

"Hither forth."

He kneels in front of her and kisses freckles

upon her face

neck

breasts

stomach

thighs

ankles

feet

legs

thighs

pelvis

he then swims into her

lashing his tongue

she thrusts herself onto him.

The needle comes out

it penetrates her vein

and the water of life pours into her

an orgasmic overflow

she caresses the shaft of her syringe

feels the pain and the memory go away.

Three Steps

Every time she takes two steps forward
he takes three steps back
it's not like he doesn't want her near
or would not enjoy the scent of her
closer to him
his senses invaded by her touch
the taste of her skin
the color of her eyes.

It's a pain he's felt before
that of being open and honest
of allowing her to invade every cell
penetrating each wall inside of his organism
once he drinks from her.

Being afraid of being
and loosing everything,
because
what he is isn't what you'd
come to expect
from a soul in a meat bag.

He adorns himself with scars from the past
each tells a tale of a woman he's loved
moments
etched onto his skin
caricatures
scribbled into the layers
reaching beneath the surface
burrowed
just like all of them.

Three steps back,
while she takes two forward.

He pushes away because of
dishonest
obtuse
obituaries
which his heart has written
for different parts of itself.

What would be so different today,
tomorrow,
or any time at all?
Those who are willing to break the walls
and seek audience with his heart
will be given the time
to make a case for custody,
to hold and respect.

Three steps back,
three steps forward.
He wonders what she hopes to accomplish
as soft tender lips reach for his own.

Time is a river

A couple together

walking down the breezeway

holding hands

she leans on his shoulder

he holds her by the waist.

Two old people sitting in a booth

ordering the special

they both have shared in the good

in the bad

and all the in between's.

An innocent child waits by the staircase

while mother locks the door

their one bedroom is a safe place

they both hold on to the railing

as they descend wind blows

the hair from their face.

He sits on a stool

in a bar

with a drink that never runs out

his worries, all watered down,

cease to exist for just a little while.

She hangs out at a party

suitors all tend to her needs

the well never runs dry

when so many are willing

giving it all they have,

but it's all just a game.

In dreams they meet again and again

aging stops

preconceptions stop

it's the purest feeling

as water dragons dance for them

love flows yet again.

Amour stained synapses (a fleeting feeling)

In the moonlight
it's when I think best.
As the sun rises
it's when I feel the most.
When the air blows
it's when I breathe easier.
When the sun shines
it's when I close my eyes.
As the rain falls
it's when I feel better.
When her smile glows
it's when I feel warm.
With the touch of her skin
it's when I feel alive.

Kochira wa Geinin.

we all play parts in the greatest play
parts we often choose
but more often than not
just happen to fall into.
it's not so easy to walk away
to pretend we never wanted them
being a savior
a lover
a simple person
or even that one to take care of you
because sometimes we need to be
in charge of something
even if it's just playing our part right.
congregations of actors
all meet on the stage
and life begins a new
each and every day
listen closely
and sometimes you can catch
the slip of a line here and there
not every play is perfect
but when it is some call it fate.
I tried to play a part once or twice
but my co-stars never seem to get it right
flawed that I am
it must rub off on them
or at least it seems to.
I will never know the truth of the matter
for they are elsewhere now
on another chapter
reading another line
to someone who is playing a part
willing to be that one
who makes believe
without missing a beat
on the stage of life.

Sweet Lovely...

It's all so abnormal
the way we go through life
in our air conditioned vehicles
with our cellophane sex
barely talking to each other
like we were a million miles
apart, yet our skin touches
and our stink commingles.

I tried to love once or twice
it fell on my lap
much the way it usually does
and every time it managed to
be squandered by the corrosion
of time and space
triangles often do that.

Antiseptic dreams
clean and coordinated
like the dance of a dying race
we beat the drums of war
love and sadness
to the rhythmic procession
of hearts left behind to spoil.

Can you imagine
for just one second
what life would be like
if we all just said fuck it
and started to talk
and walk
and listen to one another
towards one another
and made the strides
to make a difference in our own
and each others lives?

I can't
I've been locked in too long
kept inside my wrapper
I know not freedom
I feel little but the air
as it rustles against my plastic prison
the medicine numbs everything else
and my mind plagues me with one thought
over and over and over and over again

When will I feel that soft caress?

Tree of Life, a Rebirth.

Like a fruit that's been tossed around
bruised battered and torn
so does the ball
sit in your court.

I do hope one thing,
once all of the flesh decays off
and it's rotten to the core
that the seeds happen to fall
through a crack
of the cement floor
on the court of adversity
which we have built between ourselves.

To dig in,
something to crack the hardened surface
destroy the deserted streets
to grow and blossom,
bloom
a fruit giving tree
with sweet and sour pulp
to feast on and kill hunger
for both you and me.

These are the things I think about
when you come to mind now
it's not so bad you know
the taste of your smile
the stink of your skin
it all comes back suddenly
every time I think of you
freckles
blue eyes
blonde hair
gentle lips
telling me to "hither forth"
with one subtle
yet inviting
hand motion.

A kiss.

Beach Thoughts

today, much like yesterday
the day before and even past tomorrow
I find myself enthralled by what could have
should have and will never be.

a sour kiss
a gentle caress
the touch of soft skin to mine
conversations of wonder
seldom found anywhere else.

the genius behind blue eyes
kindness behind the honey colored ones
lessons taught and learned
all meant to inspire.

lately I think of you sour
even in the arms of a new lover
about how you kissed me in the car
and simply said
"now you know how I feel about you,"
so forward and in charge
like the night you jumped my bones
and showed me how a woman really
loves.

when I think of my honey lover
its often of her skin
the accents from
her freckles which I've read like braille
soft kisses on my cheek as she whispers
"You are beautiful"
into my ear
and I shiver because I know
this is her goodbye.

so I wander through my mind
emotions and heartbreak
to find myself alone
whispering sweet nothings
to myself before I sleep
all in hopes to keep
the death of my spirit
heart and hope
from coming too soon
before I find her again.

Construction Ahead

Continue on

and don't give two damns

life often fringes on death

after all it wouldn't be life.

Fighting for survival

on a rainbow road

made of multicolored dreams

smashed to bits and pieces

all you can say is

wow.

It's not so easy when the past

catches up to you

and the lovers that keep hiding

inside of your head come up

for air.

Light glares off the gravel

coloring the walls of the houses

as you pass by each one

and it makes you wonder

about the could and should have been's.

Like a pilot light that's blown out

that let's the whole place fill up

with gaseous emissions

just waiting for that one spark

to blow everything up.

So is my mind

heart

soul

waiting for that one

who will make everything light up

blowing up the walls

and the pre built concepts

of reality.

This rainbow road can take you

anywhere you want to be.

Built from smashed dreams

it makes you wonder just how far

you can really walk before you decide

that it's time to settle down

and take a sip of wine

to numb out the pain

the sway

forget about the sores on your feet.

Still I wander through the streets

headlights lighting the way

to an unknown

yet yearned for tomorrow.

It's all about the story

the trip taken

the slow moments that make it worth while

like a woman's scent as she holds you tight

or her whispering words of beauty

promises often broken

it's all momentary and fleeting.

All meant to ignite some sort of reaction

erection

confessions of the heart.

I've hold her tight several times

my muse

but more often than never

I must let her go

to be free

for I am not a cage

although I am a caged

animal

on a rainbow road

made of smashed dreams.

Four Letter Words to Break You

Flaming Lips. I Want You (She's So Heavy).


coming through
like waves
through open spaces
screams of hello
good-bye
and yellow submarines
sound waves caressing
all waiting for
and inspecting
the mare.
It's been so long
since the feeling of alone
really dug it's claws
into the mindless babble
and the garble of
these insane moments
often followed by our disastrous manic friend
happiness.
It's never as revolting
as it should be to be
seeing yourself in the mirror
smile from ear to ear
and all you want to do inside
is cry.
Because it's not normal
it's completely bonkers.
Reality skews itself in lips
often thought of
seldom forgotten
that speak those dirty words
with four letters
all the while
making the content
happy about
and the discerning
question
the ineffability
of Good-Bye.
It takes a while
to really wake up in the morning
stretch your eyes open
as you blink yourself into existence
from a night of tossing and turning
only to feel the pearl
you've been sleeping on
all night.
It's really just a matter
of picking the pieces
and being choosy about which parts
you want to put back together
often enough
you'll find that there are empty spaces
left behind
but it's ok
sooner or later you'll find something new
to fill them up with
a new smile
a kiss
a caress
new moments to glue yourself back together with.
It only takes a few
to forget of the crevices
and the broken dreams.
It's not so bad
once you look up in the new morning
to find yourself next to a lover
who you want
just as they want.
Something I always think though,
and shit...
this is just how I work.
I wonder how you'll break my heart?
How many pieces will you leave behind?
As I caress her back
massage her neck
feel my fingers deep inside
I wonder
Just how you will kill me
and how many times will I let myself
fall victim
to four letter words.

Tasted delicious on my fingers

She awakens
asking why her underwear
is still on.
I tell her it was a rough night
and my leg isn't feeling
any better.
I should have just pulled them
down to her ankles
tossed them off the side
of the bed.
We were so trashed though
and sometimes I still
go back to my prime teachings
of times long gone
yet she likes it.
Earlier she'd said
how she still paid attention
to certain aspects of
Catholicism
after correcting me
on the proper
pronunciation of the word.
I then tell her that when I
date someone
I like to do the same.
She smiles
and says
"I'm glad you know what I meant."
I like the fact that we do it this way.
But how will I tell her
I'm not a fan of missionary?