throw fireworks at little brothers,
laugh, until they start crying, then hide

make mom cry, a lot. worry her, a lot.
make everyone who loves you cry, at least twice

run your ******* up a flagpole, steal a flag
smoke cigarettes at school

through bad ***** and insincerity
get drunk, then kiss everybody

borrow people's things
make them regret lending to you

throw up in such a way it'll ruin a party
throw up in someone's bed
leave it for them later

buy cheap drugs, steal cheap clothes,
exploit the good nature of others

spit at someone's feet

start useless arguments,
especially with bigots, especially when drunk,
especially when you need to impress people

get kicked out of something holy and sacred,
in the process, shame your grandparents

flip the bird, yell impolite things and trivia
at friends, strangers, anyone

set a plastic trashcan on fire,
leave it somewhere important
forget about it

pierce your face, more than once
pierce somewhere not on your face
show people you shouldn't

say trite thoughts, dress them up with $10 words
look pedantic, unsmiling, and snooty

put everything off, procrastinate
until it ***** you up, wonder what happened

finally,
stay awake at night, remembering all this,
then pity yourself, you ******* *******

flicking past overdone poems
on burnt topic of broken hearts,
these tear-sodden sonnets,
make me a little grateful
my heart is underwhelmed.

My name is called through crooked finger
or sidelong glances that linger too long.
I am beckoned by the broken, blue boys,
who smell of naïve, of sleep-deprived sighs.
No matter what happens, I always remember,
they think they could know me, but,
no, I know better.

poor, slumped over and broken strangers
for a penny, share their paltry stories, one by one
snippets and scatters of half-truths and fables,
so raunchy they'd make Aesop blush.
don't deprive me of your salacious souls.

rented sea views with mirrors and doors,
unlocked drawers and white ***** floors,
with freshly dead ***** in claw-footed tubs.
rich luxury rich luxury rich luxury rich luxury
does that second home taste too sweet?

ears swallowed by bubble bath suds
head underwater, eyelids crushed and
stinging from the acrid chemical perfume;
drinking the bathwater in an unclean tub,
tasting notes of freesias and ***** green-blue.

I get scared that I don't do much, and I get scared when strangers yell at or touch me. I get scared of whizzing cars that go so fast that they'd turn me into pulp and broken bones under the weight of their axels because I'm afraid of broken bones and of falling. I'm scared of being a coward and of sullying or destroying my integrity.

I'm afraid of people--especially boys--and how and why they make me feel because it seems I either care too much or not enough, and I get scared of both. I get scared and mean when they say nice things to me since I'm not very nice to myself. I get the jitters when they talk to me and I get scared because I feel and act dumb.

I'm scared of being stupid and I'm scared of being overestimated. I'm scared of apathy, and I'm frightened by the willful ignorance that exists everywhere.

Most of all, I'm afraid of causing others unnecessary suffering.

I want to be better, I sincerely do. It is just all very frightening sometimes.

Hail Mary! A pseudo-Buddhist
practices pragmatic paganism
with the guilt of a Catholic,
due to their samaric duties
handed from the true-blue Krishna.

But soft, through yonder window
a star collapses and light
is ****** through and destroyed
in a black hole foretold by
Hawking and, why not, Hubbard.

People are polyamorous
for their mono/poly theistic god(s).

But, how dare they be so bold
as to think they know about
anything about any-*******-thing.

Come on pilgrim,
vamos east
to Jerusalem and Mecca,
ferried from Algeciras to Tangier.

King James told me some stories,
he'd give me a ride, and

we can pull what we want
on abortion and abolition,
strung on a thorny rope
out of H. Christ's tight little *******.

Black Francis, Picasso, and S. Dali;
chicos guapos, you are good to me.

I fight Pablo, a different one,
through Robert Jordan (ingles)
Pablo, eres un cobarde, go and
get gored by your bullheaded stupidity.

General,
I'll wander the labryinth,
slicing up eyeballs (oh ** ** **)
unable to leave the room.
(they're only cow eyeballs, don't worry)

You Spaniards!
Yo hablo un poquito,
but those men
speak to my heart.