"immigrate" poems
Sleep away into the reality of illusions..
The night and day reversed.
Into the infinite time you'll travel.
Floating in the air with your head twisted back.
In your eyes u see the darkness revealing itself .
Relieving u from the harness of light .
U close your eyes trying to escape the reality.
But with the dust and wind, u are surrounded.
Taking u to the next dimension.
U might have an iron hand, but your brain is much stronger.
With the force of your imagination, u immigrate.
The foreign land and the foreign sky may sweep you away.
The tempting lights in front of ur eyes, a false hope .
Tricked by the illusion, like the curse of a witch.
You are doomed to live inside of your head!
Like a white stripe entering into the prism .
U burst out laughing letting out the rainbow colors of the sky.
When u spit out, the ****** red color appears .
Everything turns to black,
carrying the darkness along ..
U swim in the stormy clouds.
There's no left or right
No wrong or right.
Everything is an illusion.
A dark black morbid illusion...
Feb 22, 2020
Feb 22, 2020 at 3:36 AM UTC
We can't know them
By their religion.
Too much hypocrisy.
We can't know them
By politics.
It's ever-changing... or not.
We can't know them
By country.
Zillions emigrate and immigrate.
We can't know them
By their clothes.
Emperor or not.
We can't know them
By their words.
Too many equivicators.
We can't know them
By their jobs.
At home or away.
We can't know them
By their family.
Nuclear or extended.
We can't know them
By their deeds.
They say one thing, and do another.
But look to the roadside.
In the ditches.
By the curb.
In the bins.
Ye shall know them by their garbage.
Nov 21, 2024
Nov 21, 2024 at 10:11 AM UTC
I am what others left.
I’m the things that weren’t robbed.
I’m the scraps of a junkyard.
I’m the miles that weren’t jogged.
I am a little village
In the peak of some mountains.
My skin is leather
And supports any standards.
I am farm labor dedicated to your service.
I am the sun that rises,
And the day that dies nervous.
I am development in bone and flesh.
I am the picture of thousands missing
And their blood that’s still fresh.
I am Pele against England
Scoring two goals.
I walk on the world’s spine,
And rupture many soles.
I am what my father thought me:
He who doesn’t love his country,
Doesn’t love his mother.
I am manual labor
And I do it with great pride.
Here, we share,
And what you have is mine.
My town doesn’t drown
In the sea of your lies.
And if my church is destroyed,
my faith still survives.
I do not blink
And you shall remember my name
I forgive
But never forget who I am.
I am a nomad without destiny.
Negativity doesn’t stop me,
Negativity is my ecstasy.
I committed to travel the continent
without a compass, without time, without agenda.
Inspired by the legends
With stories trapped in tales and a moon without gender.
I learned how to speak and write
And with one common language
Became the world’s fright.
I learned my country still prays
Because the authority and royalty
Still operates under our poverty.
I learned to drink depression
With tequila and cerveza.
And that our own politicians
Have nothing en la cabeza.
To immigrate is my sport.
And even though you don’t fear me,
I can take you on your home court.
I am an intruder
With the reputation of an inmate,
Yet they still want me to support them
And develop the world’s hate.
But Abuela don’t worry
La virgen de Guadalupe
Is the one that knows my story.
Aug 22, 2016
Aug 22, 2016 at 12:12 PM UTC
How many worms have
Made a home
Out of the
Bits of rubber tire
And tree bark in the playground
At the Sunday School
Where I first learned Hebrew
Can I fix this rip in my jeans that
Keeps getting a little bigger
Every time I slide my leg in
And my toe gets caught in the
Negative space
I started a collage
Of ripped out pages from
Fahrenheit 451
And a Highly Classified
Army/Navy Manuel
Specifying the different threat levels
And codes
And Troop Commands
During a Nuclear or Chemical Attack
On American Soil
I stole it when I was removing debris
From homes destroyed by a hurricane
On the Barrier Islands with my brother
A few strangers
And a lizard I called Little Eyes
Is the big picture starting to come together
I’ve been listening to a lot of
Swedish
Trash Punk recently
Maybe I’ll give myself a tattoo
That says
Anarchy Dies With Me
Right across my neck
And a Safety Pin earring
The consulate was acting strange
After I drove through the glass doors of the
Embassy in my McLaren
I said
I’d like to immigrate to
A Clockwork Orange
Drink Milk and be
Ultra Violent
Next time you come home
Make sure you bring zip-ties
A tire
Your old hair
An apology note
Three bags of flour
A harmonica
And some bribe money
For our favorite elected official
I have an idea
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 9:34 PM UTC
I don't want to read I don't want to write
I don't want to tell that old story
That had been mentioned every moment
The youth met that is smart
He loved her and she did
They had a deal to be married
All people had known that
But that man who is smart
He is not only smart but he had
A lot of money to get what he wants
He demanded her ,her parents agreed
Our hero had gone ,our hero had vanished
That old story had been finished
The papers must be torn ,the tongues must be silent
You must not read you must not write
The man who wants to convert the land
From yellow to black ,from poor to get plants
He began his job ,he faced the difficult
When he succeeded, when the corps were appeared
The minister took it and had him told
The president that he did his hard
To make that land ****** not to be old
The man hate all people he immigrate abroad
The papers must be torn ,the stories must be buried
There was a hero
Who converts the dream
To the light ,to be appeared
To transport his country to be advanced
He was accused, he was imprisoned
The accused was the topple of the govern
He could be escaped, he could run
The tongues must be silent, the papers must be torn
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 2:35 AM UTC