If I had one wish,
Just one,
It would be
To be eternal,
Immortal,
Soaking in
Life as I play
With the water
And drink
From the fountain
Of youth
That with one
Sip pulls back
My skin and
Opens my
Arteries all
While the
Forrest inside
My lungs oxygenates
And purifies
The atmosphere,
I hope I learn to
Forgive myself,
That I will be
Reborn with
Some discipline,
An undying wouldn’t
Dare be tormented
And punished,
He would love,
Unbranded,
Unconditional,
The type of love
That teaches you
How to live,
oh, to feel
That type
Of love again
In between
War and plague,
And death,
That now walks
Attached to the hip,
Of someone that
Has learned to let go.

I moved a lot when I was a kid,
5 different Houses in the midst
of humid heat, and if I could
Open each door one by one
With bronze, silver and second hand
Keys, i don’t know which one
I could call home.

My first house,
Built tall in wood, a two story
Without the first floor
Or a tree house without the tree,
The curving stairs left so many,
Bruises on my legs and arms,
But still it would call to me,
I would fall asleep in other
Peoples houses and I would
Wake up, amazed at the embrace,
Of those wooden walls
And creaking floors.

I remember moving down
The street to my second home,
Deeper into the barrio,
My uncle and his friend
Carried my swing set,
And my mom walked in
Front with trails of fire adorning
Her feet, and a look in her
Eyes screamed “so one,
Help me please”

Finally, with sweat rolling
Down my chin under
The glaring sun,I notice
A Frankenstein of a house
That hid behind quenepa trees,
The fence was crooked,
The gate scraped the concrete
Floor, a hollow concrete
House with so much to tell,
But so little to show,
The gloominess and despair,
Inherited from my mom
Followed me from there on.

The third house was short lived,
How can a house full of people
Be so empty inside,
But it would smell like coffee
During the day and during the night,
With a cigarette blanket in the back,
And bbq weekends when the rain
Didn’t bother to show up,
I saw waterfalls rush my moms
Eyes on cold morning calls,
And quiet rides,
The silence was deafening,
As if it ran through the open
Windows with knifes
Trying to take us off the
Road into the river
That flowed underneath
The highway on my way to school.

I wasn’t there much in my fourth
And fifth house, time passed
Faster when I wasn’t inside,
And when I was the ceiling,
Melted into the sky,
Letting the stars shine
Through, giving me
A little taste of outside.

In between everything,
And everyone,
I didn’t realize how
Much of myself I left behind.

The trees grow
And will keep
Growing old,
The minutes pass
Through them
Dying off at
61 seconds
Like a stem
Of bundled
Up geraniums
That waited
for the cold
To pass,
A corpse murdered,
Leaving only the
Skeleton of what
Was once loved,
Motionless with age,
And then comes the rain,
Washing away
Spilled blood,
Silence, rain,
Turning the ground
Into stone,
Where a river will
Run through,
Waving life
As butterflies emerge
From their cocoons,
Natural, a sign,
Like the light
That shines upon
The moon and
the moon shines
Upon us,
So much fog
Will dim it
So much
Like smoke
Breaking loose
From a fire,
In the woods
Nothing is certain
But the man living,
And eating,
And smiling,
Noticing that
The trees
Eat time.

cigarette smoke in
my lungs bitter and burning
why do i want more

As I drive back
from Beaumont
After almost
Getting scammed,
Me an my friend
Start Laughing
Uncontrollably at
The events
that unfolded,
To our right over
The barricades
Of the highway
and behind
The Minute Maid
Stadium,
A multitude
of skyscrapers
Stand like
well dressed
Business men
Wearing the sky
Like an
elegant hat,
Suddenly
They part
Ways for
the highway,
Glaring the
Suns shine
On each blue
Tinted window
Like a wave
Frozen in place,
Waiting to
burst against
The busy
people driving
Home or
maybe to work,
So many
and so busy
That the crowd
starts to
Grow and
the car stops,
I put on some music
For the wait and
Find comfort in a
City I thought
Once cursed.

If you know no one will read it anyway,
It doesn’t matter what you write.
You can be too honest to fool yourself
Or any of those who know the answers.

You can shout epithets at the heart of the cosmos
And whisper sad fables to the marigolds.
You can spread thin slices of your wounded soul
On buttered bread with the crusts cut off.

You can climb up a rock to see where you’ve been
And spray paint graffiti on the walls of existence.
You can carve up life’s meaning like an over done turkey
And hang velvet flocked wallpaper over it all.

If no one will look at the words you have written
You’re free to sing lullabies in quiet places
Or ***** up vitriol that scours the surface
Of the mirror reflecting the world that should be.

You can tap-dance across the bloodied shards
Of what was crystalline and you.
You can pull a plug and watch the swirl
As synonyms for hope pour out onto the ground.

You can fold the page into itself again
And yet again, and it will never disappear.
The ink may fade, but still remain enough
To make it possible to never deign to read the lines.

Was ever there a freedom such as this.

                                   ljm