gustavo-rodriguez
American
A thinker, a drinker, a smoker, a talker, a prankster, a movie quoter, a motivator, at times quite vulgar, still a warrior, pretending youngster, if I must study,a cramster,3 times a brother of one mother many to countless with difference in maternal no doubt paternal origins. Optimistic, yet realistic, my soul rustic.In another life surely I was more altruistic but this is the age of all of us so individualistic,so I gotta get mine like everyone over anyone. It makes my heart sick, many times lovesick. They say balance is key,so I agree, and do my best to keep perspective. I like politics, religion, and philosophies.Proud of myself when I have created and so declare that ‘It Is Good'. I try my best to hold on to the good I have learned and am continuously learning to release the bad which sometimes seems innate…maybe you can relate. Regarding offenses, know that if you're a friend, more faithful are my wounds than any enemies kiss.
First she puts on a skirt
And pencils on make up.
Then take her out to a night club
not the alley or curb to be picked up by another
She twirls and twists
as lights bounce off her all night
and we thump and grind on the dance floor.
We soon stink of sweat
Her breath of tequila margaritas
shaken not stirred and
soon it's time to go home
She gets hungry for drive through food
of a taco or two and when the conversation
turns we turn in to the drive way and
We’re home.
First thing she does then is walks in the restroom,
That’s my girl, still looking ****
even while taking a dumpster.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
If you were a corpse accepting cremation
I would be the flame
that lavishly licked your flesh,
the heat, heaped for your hair on a pyre
the last peril your boney body submits to,
making the air all around stink of you.
Forget the fact that you corrupt my mind,
it’ll only work out if your thoughts stink of me.
If for one second during
your self worshipping, wistful stares
into a mirror that drips a musty condensation
that lingered from your skinny, ****
torso after your morning shower, you
stand there smile *******
yourself with puckered lips and
un-dilated pupils, flirting with
camera phone pixels you think to yourself;
* Should I post me on myspace?
Should I send a text message pic to myself?
Should I forward it to that guy that I met
to make him think that I’m burning for him?*
If for that second I could be but that spark,
an after thought flare that gets you to want
more than what it is that you got,
where would you go?
With whom would you make yourself over?
I’m waiting for the morning your ashes
wake next to me; smoldered and spread out over my
mattress and under my breath, and
your eye lashes charred with clunky mascara
crumble as you replay in your silly head
the late mass I celebrated last night
when I exhumed and inhaled
that same condensation;
Little taste droplets of you then exhaled
from me to your golden tin flesh
that burned you to ******
Because of my tempered tongue you
cravingly bathed with,
because of your hair I feverishly wrapped
round my fists as
my head altered and smoothed out from whiskey
bounced waves of frivolous
thrusts pulls releases,
pushes twitches friction
in perfect timed fashion
between your radio
antenna thin legs
and your rib meat torso
you forced my lips unto.
That will be the night
you will come.
Yeah, that’s right
SEE YOU MMM-hmmm,
I will see you melt on that night.
And it will be your cremation.
Sep 22, 2010
Sep 22, 2010 at 1:09 PM UTC
It's not you and it’s not the feelings
I couldn't make you feel.
It's not the things I could have said but didn't
And it isn't your laugh that I could get used to
Or my hand that didn't touch you
but misses to be touched of you.
It's just me that can't seem to find
someone like you
It's just me that you can't find in love
with anyone
including you.
The lone and the hungry we find and discard
And I cannot be happy being without what swims in my head
It's not you, it's not her or anyone
but the one I couldn't let in.
The one I can't seem to find
who like me is alone and
knowing like me that these words are her own.
And I can't be me without what dives deep in my head
Together with the falling of a heart that’s flooding.
I cannot feel the mystery of love
So I regress to sense an empty sky of alone.
Believe me it’s not you why my face has turned sour
It's just me that wants you to be
what I know I cannot attain
It's just me that needs to get back
to what I know I once felt.
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 10:51 PM UTC
I keep fondling dreams as I
flip through FOX, CNN and MSNBC networks.
An electric lady land fantasy
of revolutions where over and over and
under and through inconsistent gibberish of
conservative conversationalists’ and
liberal libel is taken for truth.
My heart is pumping out toxic fiber optic
editorial journalistic pollution like kidneys
secrete the habit of alcohol and
cigarette poisons.
Our dependence on government help is
broken glass shards ruining the
veins of society
while Limbaugh, and spring chicken heads with a
View are enslaving our voices and
limiting the truth of our choices using
eminent domain for our minds as they spit out
their opinions through television and radio
frequencies into our brain waves as truth.
How some American hearts stay warm with
nightly news schisms, burning intolerance,
unreal realism, religious sincerity posed
and limp **** ****** commercials
is amazing. But still a paradox hoax.
May 24, 2010
May 24, 2010 at 3:15 AM UTC