complete silence
everything is in.
no voice, sound, nothing,
take a listen..

white walls,
repeated shapes,
mainly squares,
inside them
an empty face.

and then another..

the day goes by,
then the next four
we wait,
anticipate

the little bit o' sunshine,
friday.

Little breeze in the wind
that drifts over and under
lovers

Little breeze in the wind
that chills the flame
of a once fiery heart

Little breeze in the wind
running through the city
touching each and every one
of us.

Questions, questions, questions.

Solitary.
stemming from a grass-less
plot of land,
all sand.

Was this
     really
         strange
               flower.

"How?" " What the?" " Is that possible?"
muttered the group,
about seven or eight of them.
All sporting backpacks.

The day went,
the sun lackadaisically moved from
one side to the other.

When about 3/4th of the way there,
a little wide smiling
baboon
locked it's eyes
on this flower.

All in a moments
laughter
cackle, spittle
spattered.

hitting the dry,
dust.

tears rolling down the eyes
of this little primate.

wise,
fulfilled.

the tears and spittle filled
the ground.

Four months now
since that moment,
that watered the earth
and gave birth

to
   another
           strange
                  questionable
                          ­       flower.

Colorful shapes of sound streaming
out of brass instruments.
The musician attempts to navigate,
but he has very little say.
The music has a mind of its own
and a story to be told.

The musician is the medium.

I continued to walk
along the dusty road
with an open mouth
and a stuffy nose.

Came upon me--
all in a sudden moment--
I recall

a smiling tiger,
with a gaping jaw.

Taken a back
and very startled,
it took some time
to muster up courage,
but then I started:

"Tiger, you know me--
that I know.
Tiger, now we meet,
friends not foe.
Lets proceed,
and together
grab something to eat."

The tiger shocked at my diplomacy,
and bravery,
hesitatingly
responded,
"ok."

moon over head
the streets of the barrio
cracked side walks
and loud music
construing
the eager young mind,
he was about nine.

El barrio, I write to you
an open notebook I fill
of memories
black and blue.

El barrio, you didn't
think i'd make it.
for only the forsaken
make it.

El barrio,
my neighborhood
flooded with dreams
of other places
names
without faces.

life
and all else
you will find
between these city walls.