baile de serpiente

el paisaje, nuestra
tierra, baile de serpiente,
llora lagrimas transitorias.
la verdad de su destino verde,
llueve este mar ritmica.
si.
con sabor.

Trayvon

America, standing her ground,
blindly tripping over her feet.
Slapstick Lady Justice impales herself
on that double-edged sword: word has it
there are loopholes in everything,
and what is law ain't necessarily so
just cuz it's written. Ask any Indian.
Or slave descendent.
If you think we've come a long way,
we've got even further to go.
America's forked tongue speech:
fastened to the barrel of a gun, enforced
by the hammer of justice smashing
truth at the pull of a trigger. We got laws,
oh Lawd, to deal with niggers. Down
in Floriduh, in Amerikkka, in a world
diverse like a pack of Skittles, another
name is added to a lengthy list of wishes
washed out. Whitewashed. Lily, like
lies. And to think, Martin had a dream.
So did Trayvon.

sorrow's cavernous joy

caverns of sorrow
streaked. tear streamed
cheeks flow
down sedimented
streams. seas
swallow dreams,
spat back as strewn
seaweed. heaped
and confused, fused
to shifty sand.
salted, these
wounds in sorrowed
canyons born.

rise now, tears
that fell like rain.
rivulets drip rivers,
driven by heart beaten
blood drops. surging.
pulsing. purging.
the weeping proceeds
where tears precede. then
recede, finding joy, fishing
in the sea
of forgotten dreams.
where all streams
>joyful | sad<
finish journeys.

memories.
where shadows
carve out the light.
when sadness takes
time, making
space for joy
to flow in
too.

futile light, or (futilight)

what mysteries this
light may bring, dawn
breaking down
the sky. night was
a womb of lingering
memory. long. the
darkness stripped down
to day. today.
another lamp lit.

where does it go, this
light that flies, then
fills, invades
the very dark
i cling to? bands
abandoned, spent,
rent from rays displayed,
portrayed as seeds of
hope. where weeds
grow in heaps. tilling
the night. shades
of shadow.

how wasteful the light
scatters its rays. wasted
on gray shores before
this gray sea. now
drops of moonlight, adrift
at sea. cut
loose from memory.

i navigate this sentience,
solitary confinement
shackled with silence. this
penitentiary darkness.
penitent before altars
shattered of innocence. this
sea. dark with mystery.

algorhithm of agonies

one two many.
won too many
hearts for two
hands, four times
two many lost
adds up and
the hour is
L8.

once, i
found. one
butterfly
with tu
lips. mine,
trembled.
where do they
go, with
two feather
less wings?
to yester
days?

a deer. head
lights
the way. 4 ward
in time...one
plus one. summed
up. equals. us
too. 2 of these
hearts. plus their
beats.

dragons breathe.
fire, blood.
moons that dance.
us. conflagrate
in two. tear
drops too.

this sea. find
me by her.
divided
by tears of
laughter. her
tides. salt
ridden by
rhythms. hymns
and weathered
whims of fancy. dance
we, four
played years.

winter is.
summer was.
one, with ice, those
skies. blue dream.
twice streaked
eyes. rains
clouded in
shrouded non
action. subtraction.
difference other than
intention.

one, two, many.
one, two four gotten
promises for nothing
remaindered.
two, four, 8n't
life. a bitch?
zero.
as in never.

summed up. of these
parts: total area,
circumference
this science.
put to test.
as evidenced:
this mathematics.
unproven theorem.

grave thorns

there is love
      ?
is there love
      ?
love is there
    where
upon i find
  this
trail of blood.
  hounds
seeking bleeding
   hearts.

bushes, full. of
    roses
with uncounted
  thorns.
nothing comes.
  without
a price.
    still
we pay.

my grave, my
   burial
           ground.
there, in the
                      future
near.               or far.
   still.
plant for me a rose
        bush.
my tombstone.
       inscribe
my tears trailed,
     that
perfumed triumph!

on jazz

music is a narrow
word. that art
of sound. jazz
is a thin moniker
for black magic:
washing over white
lies like
fallen chains reclaimed
as instruments of spirit
speech. structure re
formed from some
enlightenment
reverting back to dark
drums, remembering.
the freedom of a fetish.
feverish
and spitting fire.

there, the skies
that float. scraped
by buildings. the rain
trumpets some
melancholy. a
dampness in dark halls.
precise. airless
and sinking, you,
pulled inward. friction
only in spare number
when it’s a freight train
blowing by.
you shiver.

this is never done. but
now. it screams
to a boil. echoes
multiply. a simmer.
and magic tricks
you into understanding.
this always was.