Sitting at my lonely barside
I kneel before the patron saint
Of castaways,
And raise but *******.

The peanuts and peasants
Have much in common,
They are roasted, salted,
Glazed with a succor
No sweeter than savage starlight

They serve to compliment
The fine layer of salt
On the rim of my cocktails
The liquor as **** as their company.

This is the rite of reverence
That droops my eyelids
This is the gleaning genuflection
Of the day's stale bread.

Let us spark,
Lest we dwindle on
Such ill preconceptions.

Let us spark
For the steps
We have taken
Towards setting suns
And rising moons.
For the tears we shed
And the blood we’ve sullied
Alongside tobacconists,
Who pray without hands,
Hymnal steam seeping through
Chapped lips
For the sounds of laughter
That erupt from
Inconsequential selves
Who only ask
A tiny bead
Of hallowed light
To cut the smoke
Dense in our skulls.


This heaving ashtray
Will go on for miles.
I beg pardon for
A moment’s reprieve
In dear memory
With cigars.

-Juan Carlos Gomez

A life without roses
Is one of indifference.
There are no thorns to ***** off
Or to impale the skin

Love will no longer be sold
At the last minute.
Tall tales and epic romances
Shall revolve around no sweeter bud

My Mexican brethren
Would have one less crop
To sell near the highway,
And yet nothing to offer
Before the ******

The world is spared
Another image to spoil
Until it wilts away,
A tragic component.

Indeed, such a life
Is perched in diffidence,
But a life without you?
My dear, unfathomable.

-Juan Carlos Gomez

These days
It seems like you
Only show up to
Aggravate me.

You  erase my
Footprints,
Rendering me
Aimless.

When I thirst,
You bring storms;
I simply ask
For a cup’s worth.
At night, When it’s coldest;
You aren’t there.
You  sleep soundly?
When you’re mad;
You kick sand
In my face.
I’m still blind.

I still walk;
For every step’s
A nail down
The new womb.
Try and chase me.

-Juan Carlos Gomez

-For Kerry-

Gone are the days
Where we can talk about
How heavy the weight
Of the world is.
No longer can we insult
The mannerisms of the
Hoi-poloi
And how weird it'd sound
Escaping falsetto tones.

Gone are the days
Of violence and wrath
Behind crystal displays
Sharp as the culprit's dagger.
Or our remarks on how dumb
The teenagers are in the film,
With their over-sized *******
And miniscule minds.

I've heard about how you'd cry.
My heart can't ever bear to see it.
But it relishes every opportunity
To smoke cigarettes with you.
Good medicine always
Goes down bitter.

If we are ever to meet once more,
May the links of the world be
Loosened-- at least just a little.

-Juan Carlos Gomez

She is a river.
Boundless, undaunting,
Pristine.
Rosebuds, she blossoms
Through her gentle stride
Knowing not of Eden
That of which is lesser

I can no longer
Fear life,
For I shall die of thirst.
No liquor or brine
Is sweeter
Than her ebb ,
Undiscernable
To my vapid quarters,
My steamy mind.

Upon my end,
My only regret
Will be that I’ve never
Learned how to swim.
-Juan Carlos Gomez

At the park,
I sat beside an old man
A crone, a fogey
A father.

His nostrils flared
As he drew all the cool air;
The twitch and the twang
Of his ****** features
Have locked my attention

His neck cracked towards me,
And his gibberish enthralled me
To think that such a man
Can still sound so young.

Can he still be so young?
With his brittle bones
And his nasally nostrils
And his waxy wisdom
That slops off his mouth?

I went back home
And ate a bran muffin
I didn't bother to
Dab it with frosting.

-Juan Carlos Gomez