death bursted into my room tonight
awakening a deep slumber
outstretching a cold boney hand
as if offering for me to go with him

I felt no fear or sadness
I have been waiting for death to greet me
I have admired him from afar
a lover who took no chance in courting me
Until he was ready to give me an embrace
That could be defined as loving and warm
but it was sinful and alluring

flickers of sparks in his eyes
ignited a fire in my soul
a passion that I had longed for
as my hand grabbed onto his
he pulled me close in the middle of the room

he began to dance to the tune
of our heartbeats synchronizing
a beautiful symphony rang love in our ears
craning his neck
he leaned in close
inhaling the shakiness of my breath
moonlight illuminated the poison dripping
from his puckering lips
as an offering to taste
what afterlife was

it held soft undertones of an earthy aftertaste
but an overpowering intoxicating sweetness left me hungry
for just one more dip
in his suicidal serenity

moving in one fluid motion
sweeping behind me
a boney hand placed on an unclothed forearm
slowly slid up my shoulder
as another arm was placed around both hips
he pressed himself tightly against me
icy breath grazed across my neck
making hairs stand up on my arms
as a moan escaped between closed lips
he whispered a seductive I love you
as he tucked hair behind my ear

the words I longed to hear
were met with a sharp knife
placed in open hands
and a crooked smile
spread across his face
it was at that moment
I came to the realization
to become his fully
my beautiful souls light
must burn out
to match his souls decayed state

no persuasion was needed
I longed for this moment
now the time was finally right
steady right hand raised
the elongated blade
"together forever..."
death breathlessly whispered
as a swift motion
punctured my abdomen
breath was taken out of my lungs
knees buckled
as death dropped me to the floor

tears of bliss flowed from my eyes
staining mascara streaks on flushed cheeks
I peer around the room to greet my lover
in another embrace with my final breaths
but im alone
left with a bloodied knife in hand
but this forbidden passion of a deaths dance
was only used to take ones soul
not give it the life it craved
laughing through the flood of tears
not even in death was I loved

(No puedo hablar la lengua.)
I cannot speak my father's native tongue.
(No puedo hablar suficiente...)
At least, not enough of it to get by.
(...no entiendo, lo siento.)
The body I inhabit feels like foreign territory.
(No lo se.)
My grasp of it ends here.

I. OTRA VIDA

Dia de san valentin, 2000: mi padre aprendió inglés por amor; voló a través del mar Mediterráneo. Él tiene miedo de los sonidos cuando trata de hablar. Pero él lo intenta. Él habla casi perfectamente -- mientras, estoy teniendo una conversación uno-a-uno con Google. Es vergonzoso.

I recall two or three trips, max. There's a blend of urban and natural that's a haven for the eye -- the buildings themselves are seduced by the sun; divine blends of amber, tawny, white. Classically Romantic. That nighttime humidity fogs up your lungs and makes it feel like a hug. There was a time when we were poised to move back there - and in Dad's case, another, nearly leaving without any desire to take me with him.

My makeshift home is built upon stereotypes: orange trees, olive oil, generous glasses of vino. Pienso qué un otra vida where I'm stood on the beach at dusk, with heavy-lidded eyes and ears attuned to cicadas and rolling waves. This is narcissistic lust for the woman I could've been - she is all smiles, bilingual, peace embodied. Those are the nights when I'm not careful: she leaves my bed by morning.

II. ESTA VIDA

To mourn the "what ifs" shows a lack of gratitude for what is, and god, what luck! For inglés to be the second most-spoken language, de-facto "centre of the universe"! To migrate most anywhere and get by; for the Western world to be coerced into Anglophonic bliss since tourism makes their ends meet!

On a holiday, I clam up ordering "una batista fresa" and get a taste of how my father feels. José Francisco: his colleagues call him Frank, in the same way I shun my legal surname because a Spanish 'LL' is too hard for others to grasp. I reek of privilege - post-post-Franco, white European, playing with my non-language behind closed doors. There's private delight in a rolled 'r': momentarily, I'm local, not a mere faux-foreigner appropriating my own heritage. Ironic - he tries to be "less immigrant" whilst I've got the fortune of trying to be more.

I was born into a universe of possibilities. A million options feel like fate -- screenwriter, Oxford grad, Spanish barmaid-or-waitress-or-I'll-take-whatever -- each unchased path is a reminder that, somehow, I'm choosing wrong. I've never perceived myself as small (ex-tall child, "ex"-chubby kid with a head outstretching the clouds, first of the eleven-year-olds to grow **** and got gawped at like I'd grown an extra nostril). Outside this hall of mirrors, I am tiny -- too small to have this many dreams -- manifesting as terror-borne paralysis because I want to do more than I'm built for. Solution: aim smaller or grow up.

yet even though i count only five members,
i still play with my moustache and beard
like an organism of eight extensions,
thus i weave and think simultaneously,
in this great cobweb of silence:
my hand the spider, my mouth the cobweb...
how pretty the interaction to exact
the daffodil a caleigh with the thistle in parisian persian.

i am as unsavoury in my buds
of the tongue as i might calypso a pineapple for pink
in the new dictionary stating pink defines punk!
i am unsavoury in by tastes
like trans-muscle in its ivory enclosure,
as i am outstretching my hand
to “photograph” the rain
with my hand to get freckles and knitting patterns of aqua gnats,
as i am to say:
a. you dittoed that word without using it prior,
so why exploit such usage in the first place?!
and...
b. it made more sense to itch with rain
than describe drunk & twitching spiders doing a cancan dance
in the four necessary extremes of  21st century morse encoding
with emoticons: s.o.s. = octopus :) reverse :) pianist fake :(.
elevator going up! (this is the scottish parliament,
after all)
shiksh floor...
elevator going down...
ground floor...
that’s just ******* boring...
how about you climb the shcaffold
and drop chimney bricks onto prince’s st. (edinburgh) drunk, eh?!
well i did that, actually... who’s up for a sarcastic tying the knot
and reining in a horse?
no one? oh oops twos a buckle with hoofs for teeth
as the same cement... no, sorry... it’s called *enamel;
say hi for me to ben and nick harper in this silence of typing ‘
oh i thought (i.e. susan).
**** me, the comma is on the ceiling, who’s going to measure
the time width of that one for exacted humour?!
here's one: when sean connie is on the screen,
you never shush the audience...
unless you get a shish kebab prior... and a shanty town
dr. feelgood - repairs project in motion...
shanty town project thumbs up good to go!
dr. strangelove - bomb bomb bomb!
dr. feelgood - shanty town isn't a hiroshima.
dr. strangelove - bomb bomb bomb, bomb!
dr. feelgood - a nuke on a geographic peanut?!
dr. strangelove - bomb bomb bomb burning bush in the taj mahal urn!
edinburgh is the new paris! edinburgh is the new paris!
yo yodeling the york... new town... virginia...
i'll export revolutionary france via scotland with edible 'burp'
new paris! bon voyage the october-haggis...
settle us among the apache with blood ***** and gain
testifying the hog's intestines as worthy digestion!

[[I found this somewhere the other day while I was looking through some stuff.  It is more of just an excerpt than a poem, but I gave it a poetic structure to make it easier on the eyes.]]


I am sitting in this ugly, worn out chair.  It is old, and there are obvious signs that it has been used and used again.  It is simply a seat in which I can rest my body after a hard day of work.  The carpet that this sofa-type-chair rests on is stained and discolored and hardly fitted for the room.  It doesn't even stretch from one wall to the other.  

Resting on my antique night stand is one of two vintage looking speakers that I stumbled across while ravaging through a dumpster behind the Goodwill.  [There's good **** in there:)  You should try it!].  

On the walls are old, used posters that I have had for years.  They are cleverly placed to cover glow-paint graffiti that the last tenant left behind.  Some of them have obvious sun damage, and a few of them are tattered and ripped.  

The bedroom suit is antique and has limped in here after being beaten and bruised since the early years of my childhood.

There are no tokens of wealth here, but there are obvious signs of hard work and many attempts to make the atmosphere as comfortable as possible for myself or whomever chooses to enter my humble dwelling. This is far from the place I dream to be, but I have always been able to make it my own.  This is my safe-haven, and for now, it is where I lay my head.

Don't get me wrong, I love spending my time here.  It isn't much, but I'm thankful for what I have.  I spend some of my most enjoyable time here.  If the walls could talk, you'd be enthralled and perplexed by what they would tell you.  Maybe sometimes you would even be disgusted ;)

I am free here, but there are still so many elements that can intrude from outside these four walls.  The boundaries can be broken by anyone who decides to turn the **** and give the aged, wooden door a little shove.  

I feel so mortal here.  
There are so many worldly implements.

It is much too humanistic and real for me.  It is just too hard to grasp the concreteness of things here.

There is a place where I like to go that I enjoy most of all.  I could never bring you here, but I can describe it to the best of my ability.

The inner workings of this place are not too solid.  the elements are much more fluid.  They can change their form beyond your will.  

I have been visiting this place for a long time;  as far back as my mind will take me, but I still haven't worn out my welcome because this place is just for me.  The temperature is neither too hot nor is it too cold.

The land here is more vast than the greatest plains in the world, but I have trampled on every square inch.

The ocean is deeper than the Earth itself, but I have swam the great blue depths.  

The sky stretches on and on beyond all Earthly possibilities, but I can reach to the clouds by just outstretching my arms.

The mountains reach to the stars and beyond, but I can trudge to the peak and slide all the way back to the bottom in the blink of an eye.

There are more people in this place than have ever existed since the beginning of time, but I have spoken a lifetime worth of deep thought with each and every one of them.

I pated the silver linings on every single cloud and tossed them up into the sky one-by-one.

I gave names to each and every plant and animal.

I paved all of the roads and built every structure without a single tool.

I created the entire world here.  This place holds my every want, need and desire.  It is my kingdom.  I can dream any dream.  Illusions become real at your desire, and everything that you ever believed was impossible suddenly lies within your reach.

Nothing can take over my will and break me down on these journeys throughout the eternal vastness of my mind.

As I leave my mind once again, I take a stroll back to this earthly place.  I find myself still encompassed by the staleness and placidity of this place.  I'm still here slumped in my aged, worn out, sofa-type-chair on its stained and discolored carpet that is still hardly fitted for the room.  It is still a pleasant atmosphere, but if I decide that I want to leave this place, I can take flight back to my immense kingdom and conquer the skies.  I can go as far as I want without ever moving a limb.

The best part about it is that you can never follow me here...

There is probably some place on this earth that is dear to you.  You most likely long to visit this place, and even find yourself there time after time, but there is only one place you can go no matter what is going on around you.  This place is not of this world, and you would never find it simply by just looking.  

Find a place with your own tattered, worn out sofa-type-chair.  Sit down and close both eyes.  No open your third eye, take flight, and start building your kingdom.

It seems places I call home are in all different spaces
The placement is unjust, miserable in all cases
Dates I can't remember, they go by so fast
The last place I came from I lost with a crash
It all gets confusing when motives aren't clear
Far-heart intentions, my mind commandeers
Actions are pointless if my love wanders long
Gone forever searching to fit where I belong
There's nowhere for me, especially where I am
Everyday I give more *****, but less of a ****.
I hate being a product of a ****** up culture
My ***** of a life sends me back as I approach her
I hate those surrounding, surrounded by those that hate
Their ****** up decisions and distorted mind states
Opinions, I guess, from heads in the sand
When I'm in the clouds, I'm outstretching my hand
I swear if I leave, I won't ever come back
Homesick feelings are something I lack
Rather constant impulses of allowing my mind to roam
Missing love of my heart where in my heart is home

I'm not afraid of the dark--
I'm afraid of the light,
that stealthy insight that looms overhead and slowly
envelopes my mind:
equal parts consolation and condemnation
of the decisions I've made and the dreams I've deferred
until tomorrow,
always tomorrow.

I can't sleep till midnight
because my mind insists on activity;
my whole being validated by three lines,
or three words,
whatever I write I become; I see.

What would you say
if I told you I count to twenty,
three times in a row after I hit snooze five times,
that I lie in bed, ruminating my failures
and the impending day,
resolute and domineering,
like an aged, hardened war general
who refuses to answer to, "I will not, sir;
I cannot do that, even for you,
or my country...sweet land of tyranny."

I think I find some meaning
and solace
in the minutes that beckon to morning
and hold fast to inevitable recycling of failure come freedom--
for, we are no longer chained by our fears when we forget
perfection.

I'll never reach that star;
I have no ladder that steep,
or hands that far reach,
outstretching past my own soiled skin--

tears that bleed.

I look at my friend,
and sadness drops an anchor on that heart,
I'm sure it's hoping to port here,
as tears well in her eyes again,
I ask "are you alright lady?"
an you probably,
know the answer was NO.

( My fur baby,
or as I believe-
a spirit animal,
my familiar -
but not for dark witchcraft,
ha, no,
this is just...a ....story ....yeah, a story,
about my Tanley cat )


Cooking dinner oh boy, meatloaf-
chorizo sausage, pork an beef,
and I am distracted in every way,
I refuse to make something that's not,
delicious an with the right ingredients,
anything is possible,
now exhasted and sipping wine-
why he just climbed right up my leg!
"Ouch guy!" as I pull him off my jeans,
looking over at her,
still emotional,
while trying not to seem rude,
"he's so strange"  I chuckle warmly,
I pat his sweet furry head,
and shake my finger at him-
no no darling kitty,
go wait there in your bed.

She forces some kind of smile,
then I look at his eyes,
and he just looks -confused.

I pat his sweet little head again,
rub his chin and pick him up,
I'm just too busy with nightly chores,
to listen to his heart-
at present,
so I walk over to Melissa,
and rub a feeling hand over her back,
trying any words of reason,
but reasoning with a tumultuous heart,
is sometimes impossible,
I know, from experience sigh
I know little Tanley cat
you want to help and I'm sure we will,
I feel her an his angst.

A half hour later, or so-
as my routine feet amble across,
the old an quite cold hardwood floor,
over to a chair against the wall,
where Melissa and the roommate Tom sits
at the bar still playing cards,
a pleasantly surprising game of rummy
though she still can't see in that tunnel,
I make my way,
over to a chair and sit -
at looooong last,

Ahhhhhh....a very deep breath
as eyes close fractionally,
and I sigh deeply for,
taking a well deserved pause,
as my latest invention bubbles,
eagerly in the oven -
as I have still to feed everyone,
Lil Tanley comes to my feet with an offer,
I look down and nod for him,
to come up
and he gladly obliges.

Now I love animals,
I always have,
but I've had few in my adult life,
mostly as a child or teenager as,
my living pods didn't allow,
for such wonderful critters,
smiles

I have always thought myself,
to be- somewhat at least,
awake to my life maybe,
but I suppose,
awake doesn't always,
equate to being aware,
and awareness is the thing,
that taught my heart to share.

While life being such as it is,
I didn't have many,
opportunities to learn
much worldly wisdom
other than what we knew-  
these little furry spiritual souls
are already enlightened,
gratitude is what I think they hope to earn,
soft and sweet sometimes,
always independent,
little tiny furry sentient beings maybe,
well sounds crazy, I dig,
but I think so anyway-
an here's only part of why.

Tanley had been waiting,
an meanwhile-
we had considered adoption,
somewhat early,
for what we thought,
so shortly after the death of Spanky,
my first really close spirit animal,
the others I hadn't allowed
for time or space,
some touched my heart- but Tantan?
he's the manman,
he knows his special place,
he is a pure heart-
that I know well,
he attached himself with a needle
and thread to mine,
maybe an ancient spell was cast,
not a bad one,
if so- this is all good,
I have a warm relationship with my spirit guides these days-
didn't always understand
that part to well,
I'm not "psychic" -
maybe sensitive and very easily tuned in-
my empathetic antennas going off,

An let me again stress,
this cat is very special,
chosen for us,
I am certain of it,
and he is just so unique-
an I know I know,
like every mom says,
and it's not completely -
understood either,
by anyone -
well he is cute and soft,
but everyone,
an I mean EV-er-Y-OnE,
comments on his "beauty"
- drawn in moth to flame like,
I have seen many adult lost-
totally mesmerized
four at once for over an hour,
all participating in his fun.

He is like a newborn gift,
just weeks young he came-
not now but 5 months old,
infusing all our hearts with simple joy,
he helped us bear the Winter's cold,
from the amazing connection,
we ALL so obviously share,
an Lil Tanley he so wants to care,

Now my Tanley cat looked at me again,
then her, though this time -
persistent like,
in parroted movements,
repeating his message
though I am still resistant, apparently,
until the emergency emotional bulletin,
comes through and BINGO-

Oh, now I get it boy!
Then suddenly I realized,
he wants to comfort and to help her!

Alright go ahead I hearten his request,
as he is hesitating though not wavering,
patiently, and sweetly waiting,
for her soon acknowledgement,
I say to them all-
" He wants to help, just look"
and I pat him again,
"go on now" he looks again,
at all parties, inquisitively,
she looks at him
all her insecurities prominent,
but softly her heart eases -
he stretches from my knee,
to her upper arm,
her comfort means he pleases,
outstretching paw like feelers of hope.

She smiles a teary thanks,
silently in her head,.
I can hear it with my heart,
and **** it all to hell sometimes,
that hearing -
some parts of a heart
you rather not know,
but his I listen to gladly,
and I see him rock,
back and forth like an,
Olympian runner trying to save,
someone and maybe who knows,
perhaps we lived in another life,
together I wonder,

Maybe somewhere in beautiful,
and ancient Greece together,
as he always does this just before,
he jumps, one, two - up we go,
onto her left shoulder and finally,
he finds his warm perch.

Ever since first night we got him,
just 8 new weeks old -
too soon I know -
but my poor heart wanted him,
to be with his family which is us,
he desperately needed to find his home,
still big for his age and not sad,
well adjusted was this furry strange,
and wonderful little misfit,
the one the other lady didn't want
and not suffering his momma's loss,
too awful bad at least.

Tanley cat went straight to his employment,
taking very seriously his task,
with such concerted effort,
it's not as if I ask,
as he willingly and unselfishly performs,
a dazzling balancing act
- a feat of his desperation to stop,
sadness and his ugly friend depression,
as he is purring,  
and trying to groom her lovely hair.

He burrows his head into her hair,
bunting her sweetly,
showing he's in love,
giving it his best effort,
looking at me for approval,
he has every bit of it,
and all of the attention,

A warm smile finally breaks the spell,
my heart feels that anchor weight lift
in all our amusement,
as  he burrows into her neck,
looking for some small reward,
for that solace gifted,
as she gratefully giggles a tiny bit.
and a wee little light seeps in,
through a teenie hopeful crack,
in sweet tired dark sad eyes
I see a glimmer of hope.

Ma Cherie © 2017