En ese ser tan femenino y extraño. En esa silueta tan simple pero hermosa un ser despistado e intrigante me enamoraba con cariño sublime pero disimulado. En ella encontré el mejor lugar en donde estar. Es que ella es tan ella siendo ella.

This evening, alone, I dim the light.
The needle crackles on the vinyl disk,
and Billy Holiday expounds.  The night
belongs to 1933.  I risk

forgetting all the present, modern days
sinking.  In leather deeply I recline,
absorbing all that special era plays,
and all I never lived are surely mine.

With every sip of bourbon on this night,
they come alive again through jazz and song,
from album cover pictures, black and white.
We dance in black ties, black tails all night long.

And when the morning sun has woken me,
I will have lived my night in history.


(C)2014, Christos Rigakos

dear media;
my body is art.
**** your opinion and your ideals on what I should be
because I am living, breathing art.

my face shows young beauty,
inspiration and awe found in my eyes
and just beneath the pupil, a shimmer of excitement.

my lips have said so much, they seem to be so ripe with the words they speak,
they send daggers
yet stay plump and baby pink.

and what about my arms? they have endured so much,
every cut, bruise, and punch for a lonely night or the feeling of not being good enough.
they allow me to write my words;
hold those up plagued with the feeling of being alone
my arms, they are strong.

my stomach is like a mountain and
next time I'm in bed the man I'm with will understand as he
runs his fingers between every space of each rib and kisses my stomach,
down to my inner thighs and back up again.

and my thighs, still fresh and wild
dangle and jump at the mere sight of adventure
wrap around a mans waist to make him feel better and
kiss him on the cheek with the lips I spoke of before.

my brain will hold and absorb galaxies,
an endless universe unfolding before me and
i will take in each bit and dream of it at night because;

i am ambitious, diligent, strong and talented,
and yet I can still be
soft and caressed and fragile but,
media, society, never mistake my kindness for weakness because
i will take the food you feed me and spit it right out because
my body and mind is worth much more.

dear media;
my body is art,
and you will not be the artist.

conceptcollection

Sitting within sounds of the preacher preaching
And people seated just to hear the word of Jesus bleeding
Blends my concoction of thoughts into fumes
Of congregational broth
Inhale tears and thankful praises to the heavens
Uncontainable, yet liberation brief
"Page 90 of your hymnal please"
Be "Joyous and triumphant" in your seat

And one time she was the sea
And he was the sky
Flowing like holy water breathing in God's
Heavy slumber
Destruction is imminent my dear
Who bringth this down?!
"Not I!"  
So singth Judas to Jesus
To easeth wavering spirits
Jesus' wayfaring spirit searching
For the kiss of the Demon

-Muah-  

Earth shattering purse of the lips  
Alarming all these cardinals
Like we already needed a pope.
The creed, the creed, the creed,
Messiah on High, The Bread of Life,
"Stop it. Tell me where Jesus was in these streets."

And I saw and I lived, but I wasn't.

Never bore the political hues of these streets
Every corner stirring up a new beef on these streets
Everyday I had to walk through these streets
"Who you be? Who you be?"
Hands itching through their soul for the heat.
Another life in the grave.
Buried,  
Obsolete,  
For this dingy old hood
Night and day people slinging for the "cure"
"Get this money. Get this money. Man, I gotta get this money."
"Get the honeys. Get the honeys. Man, I gotta get the-" bleep
Lost my very first love to these streets.

Jump out the car,  
New resolve,  
Lost my cousin to these streets.

He died, seconds after taking the leap.  

So I believe, Jesus was in those streets
And told him as a changed man
To "Come and be with Me."

Forgiveness.