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Carlo C Gomez Oct 2020
I heard the chimes
of iniquitous wind
rush in upon
familial branches bent
in the middle
it sent the smallest stems
to spiral
as lost sons and daughters
captured in darkness
and forced to bow before
the lightning strikes
of tyranny
For the Mothers of the Disappeared
maybe marc Jan 2019
ya chao culiaa
para la wea
que no había naa
dejate de ser la desesperaa
que mimos mañas mañanas
deja las vueltas las volaas
las mentiras la wea que te da
de atrapaa
lo típico.
asi que ahora borraa
quiero estar drogaa
abrasada ja
en brazos brasas
no te quiero naa
pero igual me teni pegaa
ya basta ah
perra sumisa confundida
no sé que decir más
solo se que ya no da
pa repetir la forma en la que va
voy vengo y no me fuí
mas encima de te crei
tan gigante en tu entrega
pero eri un orgasmo barato
un mal rato
un rico recuerdo
de cabra chica la navida
se acabaron las que no soy
lo que vendí
me gaste así
de nuevo ni me corrí
(en lugar, de, en)
te creiste mas de lo que conocí
no me wevi
salte de ahí
ya no estai invitado
no me digai que me queri
sabemos que es así
pero en error me repetí
te herí
me pasé
pero pendejo
Dani Feb 2018
It's smaller than I remember

Not that I possessed many things,
it always seemed like everything could fit in here
even the things I scarcely use;
The woolen jumper that scratches my neck,
The mittens, now too small to fit,
The bandanna with a stain or two
Its strange how things get put away to not be seen again
That is what I am now
in this moment.

I must remind myself to air out my cupboard once I get out.
I'm breathing in the stale air my possessions do
It smells of worn wood and detergent
The smell of a home I've always known.

There is a faint rattling
I try and hold my legs together to keep them from shaking
I hate that all I can hear is my short breath
I don't want to move to rub my eyes again.


A thud.


More thuds of weighted boots

Silence again

My legs are cramping now
That recent growth spurt didn't do me good.
My **** knees keeping knocking together
Mama always said I couldn't keep still

Why do I get the feeling
that once I leave my small cupboard
That I won't be the same again?
My Dad was 16 at the time when Pinochet's men barged into his home. He had to hide in a cupboard as to not be taken away. My family have suffered from this dreadful man's dictatorship in Chile and I will be forever grateful that my family are safe. I suddenly wondered what it would have been like to have to hide in your own home. To go have to grow up fast.
John Constantine Jul 2017
A man with the people's good at heart
And self inflicted gun shots from an AK-47
Lay dead in the palace of currency

American funded bombs drop overhead
Radio waves shiver through the air
Carrying his final words

Let not his sacrifice be in vain
Let us repair and rebuild avenues across which great men and women will walk

¡Viva Chile!
¡Viva el pueblo!
¡Viva los trbajadores!
Nienke Mar 2016
por mi parte soy o creo ser músico
escuchadora de la nada, visitante del mundo,
admiradora de los gatos, uno de los animales,
la interpelante, creyente que todo es interesante,
investigadora de los ojos, amante de las ondas,
bastante obstinada, pero cada vez tu ayudante

una habladora, la interruptora del silencio
de todos modos la guardia de tu gran secreto
simpatizante del arte, todo lo que es dulce,
las lenguas romanas y las puestas del sol
enemigo de la monotonía y el capitalismo
luchadora por todo lo que es un organismo
something written for the University (Diego Portales)
OnwardFlame Jan 2015
You placed your hand in the garbage disposal,
Just for me.
Long lean fingers and palms
They smiled at the Philadelphia skyline
Covered in sink filth and vegetable residue
But you said you would place your hand in the garbage disposal,
Just for me.

Green and yellow bottles upon bottles
Most crush up little capsules, wishing to save the world
Maybe it can alter the chemistry of our brains
But all I know is I have the tendency
To eat the brains
Of those I love and hate.

But truly, I hate so few
And truly, I let myself love--
I have no tolerance for those who cannot kindly be honest
So sorry, to start a stir
But someone has got to change
The approach.

Your spine shines bright in the bedroom of your past
I told you tonight, "I want you to remember me just like this, in Chile."
A spotlight on my face, the corner
Of your bohemian living room
I can teach you how to pretzel and twirl
But if you throw your pink blanket over me
I will watch it all cover my glowing technological screen
While vines linger and wrap around my dark skull
Cat eyes and moments neither of us could forget
But lets all just be lovingly real.

But if your hands pressed me up against a wall
Irises and music turned off to accompany
New found shame
I think I could teach you plenty, a lot of things
But go to sleep, my darling

You have to leave in seven days.
Here are all of my x's and o's.

— The End —