D Lep
But now I'm there
Wherever that was
And wherever this is.
Day late/dollar short/ D lep
You had sung of grapes too
and transposed curious waves of hair.
But the icon grafted
next to namesake
had borne no resemblance.
A spectral fire (you).
I exorcise the evidence
and tear down your temples.
A different current caught you
another foreign wave.
muscles twitching
and mind wandering.
Why have you come back to haunt me?
Bones popping and creaking,
a death rattle of hips and shins.
But I no longer wish to right
any sort of wrongs.
If only you considered me then,
the way you consider me now.
Restless, restless
Exhaling a thousand sighs.
My wasted breath
this rotting fruit.
The seeds won't germinate
and I won't sleep.
Have the vines
choke 'til slumber.
A ghost in this home,
I home to his ghost.
He trembles within my hands.
His scent is trapped in my oils,
diffused amongst the cells.
Foreign salivation
dilated transgressions
viral possessions.
My psyche makes me sick
one way or another.
These words convey violence
as testimony to torn pieces
that will never quite
match up again.
All the time spent gazing inward
analyzing cryptic reflections-
still no response
no echo from the ego.
Kaleidoscopic organisms
harvesting the synapses.
Pixelating the images
shattering facsimiles.
The disc has been wiped
black out
start over.
There was no warranty.
Who do you cry out for at night?
When your sheets are rolling like the waves
and turning like the tides?
Tear out the growths
skin yourself alive.
This was not
my goodbye.
sleeping in a speeding car
I'm sighing for you.
I'd give you my days
if you gave me a night.
But if you weigh
too heavily on my mind
my chest shall be crushed.
My breath is caught
in a web of glass.
Jaundiced bruises, cuts on my fingers
weeping wounds, multifaceted tears.
I'll rub you across my gums
my tincture, my cure.
Bruised thighs
Broken pairs
Foreign beggar
Painted drifter
Contorted poses
Common thief
Watery muse
Vehicular womanslaughter
chests heaving across telephone wires
spouting resolutions
to preserve the data.
Alive by machine
digital life support
I am connected through the circuitry
I am binary.
Waves and words
conveyed through cracked cuticles
and shrouded in fog.
The harder one stares
into the mist
the less visible
the details become.
As with a photo
that's out of focus
step back
and widen the eyes.
And you never told me if you believed me.
Both giving the other
more reasons to question
a fate
set in sand.
the first line of the poem. Professor Irizarry (who taught me Latino/a Literature
last semester) showed me the importance of titles. I used to have the
tendency to skip titles altogether in my readings, but now I take great care
in constructing titles that correspond with the poems themselves.
A landscape of flesh
And your static halo
And my unfortunate mind
The sun had already set.
choking back guilt
You should've been severed
Instead-
Tangled in a net
of blackened hair
A breeze hollowing
the body above.
Tumultuous sprays of foam
waltz across the tie dyed sky.
Afternoons spent wandering
the nearby unknowns.
Eventually the shroud unfurled
and offered a sliver of reality.
Lifting the head
from a downward gaze.
Glad to be content
with one's own thoughts.
Though nearing an end
your signs and symbols were cursed.
But I say to you:
Wax and wane,
come and go,
the moon, the tides
they've all been named.
My fingertips are peeling
where they touched your skin.
Is it wrong to find comfort in the living?
To hide away in a moving pulse?
The only salt you've spilled
is for yourself.
And I'm in love with everyone else.
This is our dilemma.
