Soy lo que soy, supongo.
Lo cotidiano, lo mundano,
Acompañante de lo solitario.
De las goces de la juventud,
Privado, e la mancha de los años
Se muestra en el gesto.  

Que poco es el tiempo
Que me queda acepto.
E olvidado seré tras mi sepulcro.

Mas ¿acaso me aguarda algo
Luego de mi entierro
Amén de la tierra e
El son de los gusanos?

Solo se sabrá esto
Cuándo llegue el momento.

My daddy—he once told me
don’t ever play with nuns
they’ll hit you with their rulers
it won’t be any fun

I snuck out of that prison
and now I’m on the run

Once freed from that schoolhouse
I sunbathed in the sun
I stayed out late, I went on dates
looking out for number-one

When I think of what I went through
of all the tired repressive lies
I keep running wise, in slick disguise
my purpose is renewed

Don’t ever let ‘em tell you
you can’t have any fun
If they preach that hackneyed drivel
grab some things and run
.
.
Songs for this:
Cold Heart (PNAU Remix) by Elton John & Dua Lipa
I'm Still Standing by Elton John

Do you ever try to think
Like a dog?
Try to log the way
They follow your eye?
In the way the cat
Fully denies
Any claim on love
And the budgie longs to be free
He can't believe
Your niave cruelty
And of course
The goldfish
Wears the crown
Of
Our
Selfish
****.

The plans for your construction are precise
The design and engineering are true
The foundations solid, the drains are laid
In mathematics pure, infallible

The offices are bright with light, well-aired
The flow of work geometrically set
The shops and stores convenient to the staff
In tactical practicalities placed

But do you wonder, at night beneath your lamp -
Why are you building a concentration camp?

My Soul Cried
And the tears became poetry.
The day turned into night,
Yet I can still hear your melody.

In the memories we never lived,
I still dance with you.
In dreams we never had,
I still sleep next to you.

But your silence cuts me deep,
And I still wait for your messages—
Letters on a screen that don’t know me,
Written by people I’ve never seen.

I hear songs I believe you would love,
As if they truly meant something to me.
My ears can only hear your voice,
And now my eyes ache as all my poetry escapes.

There's a mystery beneath the ground,
beneath the rocks and singing brook,
a screaming of no sound,
sealed letters, an unread book.

G-d the soul You put in me is pure
planted in a grave it rattles cages
beats against the stifling lure
Deep within its crying rages.

...yesterday, did I?! Tsk, tsk.

(sonnet #MMMMMMMMMXVII)


Poinsett'yas red for Xmas "cheer," detail
The huge, white snowflake cutouts with a sense
Of all we dreaded facing, tree fr'intents
A green fir Santa's head hangs from t'avail,
I've Irish strains to give the silence bail
As merry jigs in season charm from hence
The dead calm I'd not wake, but why's defense
So dearly wanted like I'm lost? Joys fail?
I know! Tis amb'ance for a party. Were
Such mine t'indulge in, these might as well do
That want of "what's just right" some good. Is't poor
Now I am dying of boredom strangely too?
Put on Tchaikovsky after Celtic fer
This restless sense I can't shake--oh, where to?!

07Dec24b