In the heavy dust
from dry summers
selling Chiclets from inside the rim of a sombrero,

Tortured attire of a woolen rainbow
Poncho, pleading to appear a lowly vagabond

by an uncle who seeds alleyways,
Clothed in his tequila stench;

Instructed by an aunt, obese from endless
refried beans and Uno-Vision sopas.

“Chiclets! --at the top of your lungs, mejo!"
Louder as the weight of the dust devils possess

His voice : a squeaking version of itself,
Coughing at the same spot  in Tijuana’s

Les Miserables, the invisible, at market...
Dirt in his tears, no longer noticed, too often cried

There is no need to pretend how lowly
Or dinghy his juvenile face has smeared;

A clown of earthen make-up, in misery’s portrait,
to example the tender, the precious,

have been left to pander to love, for sale.
A paradigm of angels, fallen with the truth;

Deep in this formidable of fates, of hell...
Here, he is not above the silences,
but he must live in it, live to tell.

How wishes are often made without a well.

The bowl of a glass ashtray
On the nightstand
Is brimming with cigarette butts.
The bedroom smells of burnt
Tabacco.

This is what wasted
Time looks like, unkempt,
Disheveled.

Grey songs of a caged bird:
Ashes and cigarette butts

The kind of cold that sinks
Into your bones, seeps past the skin
and thin barriers of coat or scarf,
The kind of cold that grips from deep within
as though death has its hand upon your soul
The cruel cold that breaks the heart
watching the world dismiss you
while seizures assault you, a passerby, a lark,
just another casualty of Sin City nights
The unkind cold we all feel
When love departs.

Faith is like Knowing the sun shines
Though storm clouds block it from view
Overwhelming you with fear
You know how it felt
Having the warmth of the sun
The light upon you …

Knowing wholeheartedly what your eyes cannot see
Believing
What you feel,
Like love, faith is as real.
And others may not
Care to understand or demand proof,
or be shown the way,
You’re not responsible for them.
Each path has differing destinations
Don’t lose sight of your
Passion/truth...
Where your heart may lead you...
To be or not to
With or without / purposely live,
Knowing wholeheartedly now

Love gives
meaning to life.
Have faith, inside there's light.
You'll see...

(Sight beyond sight)

It’s always mostly quiet
Christmas morning,
more so when you’re
Alone
Like a barren tree covered in snow.
It’s truly winter
in this stillness,
Not so much the icy cold
rather the feeling
Desolate.
Mostly always quiet...

(Christmas morning.)

The older elders have their superstitions,

Tiny rituals they keep under their breath

Spitting

Wards & incantations

Sweep of broom stick, and what the hex?

Is Grams commanding demons

“In the name of the Father

And his son Jesus!”

“To get out of this house?!”


We all have one of those…

The lost cause / loose cannon

Black sheep first cousin

Into *******, or something unacceptable.

Perhaps their smell or appearance?

But with all the many different kinds

Of races of people / faces

Painted, pierced, gold plated,

We are biologically similar

Homosapien kin

Bleeding tribes, clans, houses,

Fathers and sons

Who believe in war for the higher cause$

All above

Behold Us here below

How does life persist panhandling

When the world dies in

Misunderstanding...?


But we tolerate our

Alchy parents, addict uncles, ****** aunts

Long lost siblings on / Suicide watch …  

Because our humanities for our family

Shouldn’t change what our eyes must see…

Can’t push brick mansions

But we all can climb those very walls,

It’s how we do family

(Together standing tall)


Love accepts without opinion

Without doubt or regret

No hate to have dominion

Peace be

And All the best.

How we do...

Grass grown at home, ******* dances at “the studio”

And then arrives crack, black, speed, & degradation

Needles and needfulness, both get tucked in.

“Just waiting on my guy to re-up at the Meadows…”

As Calypso drums and reggae plays to mellow yellows.