a scholar
is by
name and
read this
prose aloud
when the
5 Spot
as xgiving
is where
he's deserved
the staple
and wear
the cape
as formidable
in the
crowd and
bring cogito

Sabía el día de mi perecer,
Navegue sin pensarlo,
Te busque en los campos de café,
En cada grano perfumado,
Me sumergí en los pozos
De líquido arábigo,
Cada sorbo sin hallar valentía,
Te busque en mi cuarto,
Entre el papel, también en mi desorden,
Solo me topé con sentimientos,
Pero no te encontré,
Hasta que te vi al fin
Echo de trigo, de maíz,
Sangrabas café, pero no flaqueaste,
Pude sonreír otra vez.
Héroe te encontré lleno de fuerza,
Y recordaste todas aquellas aventuras
Todas las victorias, al perforar mi mente
pude levantarme y ser héroe de grano perfumado,
De líquido arábigo, con cabello de maíz y corazón de trigo.

a bitter and cold journey
for the daily dose of coffee
of a girl who’s silently
screaming ‘save me’

warm weathers with a warmer heart:
i stretched out my arms
and embraced her with all i am.
this girl threw an ocean of words,
of images, of emotions, and even of silence at me
over a mango shake, kimchi fishcake,
and a pair of hot matcha lattes.
she challenged me to a doodle dare
when i told her i don't draw humanity,
as much as i wanted to draw her right there on the spot.
let's draw those people on that side of the cafe
ah, a people-watching activity!
just our kind of hobby that immerses us within society
while being in our own little world!
i noticed she draws people first
then the background according to the proportions of the persons;
yes, a people-watcher observing another people-watcher
unlike me who starts off with the walls and furniture of the space.
she drew the ovals for body proportions;
her pencil marks done gently, focused and magnified,
much like how she holds herself up.
thus we were satisfied with unfinished sketches
and incomplete acapella song covers;
and it definitely was a finished day–
complete with her presence,
photographs taken with cameras and our memory's eyes,
inside jokes about boys and talks about life outside.
the sun is getting lower
as the hour hand is getting higher.

Time continues but we paused.
So I'm up for another round with you, Lou.

Do you dust the seat off that separates us from being strangers or will you sit on the other side of the room pretending not to see me? 
Will you smile showing teeth or will your greeting be a painful one on your part ? 
Should I stand and give you a hug or will your muscles tighten and your face distort at the nearing of my body to yours? 
Will your voice be high and light and full of the energy that says " my life is great, I am happy, I am in control, always in control" 
Will I still hear the quiver at the end of your speech that has never once convinced me that you are truly all of what you claim to be ? 
Or, will I fall for your charade this time, for the first time, because that seat that you may or may not sit in has been dusty for too long. It's been yours since you left although I've never told you. 
I should of but would you have listened? 
Your not the only one with speech prepared for moments like these that screams " I am happier then you and don't you forget it ". 
We are the same you and I, Since 5 years old. The differences are that my speech has never been spoken and I fail to count the amount of times I've heard yours.
Your seat has been saved, your embrace longed for, your smile imagined. 
What separates us is far more then a dusty old seat, and yet if you only sat down, just for a second…

In the late 1990s on the South Side of Pittsburgh
there was a cafe I'd frequent
with large cozy chairs next to picture windows
that looked out onto East Carson Street,
the main drag in that part of town.
From those chairs, I'd read and write and watch
tattooed bikers, artists, skaters,
young ***** with their **** out,
and poor thugs in ***** clothes
posed as weathered statues against brick walls.
They all craved attention, respect,
a solid footing for their place in the world.

Today, I imagine most of those people are
dead or in prisons or barely making it
with several children and dead-end jobs.
That cafe, like so many storefronts,
fell victim to the polite ravages
of suburban malls and the Internet.
Those days are gone to never return.
Still, those people had my attention.
For what it's worth,
they will always have my respect.