Friday, September 28, 2012

When all lights have quieted

When all lights have quieted
And a pot is atop the stove
Underneath it burns a set
Of smoldering coils
Brilliant in its variegation
Unfettered it its devotion to red

The bubbling reports
Spill over in temporary drops
Over the intuitive parameters of
That deep set pot

A fire below screams
Implore me!
¡Con la sensualidad!
Drink from the dirty cup
And wash from the clean tap

From the rim of derision a chuckle echoes…

Dame un razon
To force the memories
Boiling soft inside
Into the back of my throat

The temperature
Escalates slowly
To sear those elements
Which can flip quickly

Y la lenguaje
Folds into itself
Revolves in circumscribed geometry
In turn

I envelope the tongue. 

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Me sonrien los cambios


Cover no ground
When dug up from under

Molded avowals

Or rescued
Late-night revivals


Do not make better
The syncopal series de ausenscia

This epoch
Has passed

Through unforeseen gaps
of disappeared fingers


These generous

And insult

What it means to possess
That rose-colored affliction 

Friday, September 7, 2012

poem number one million

The ribbons
of this predicament
come curling up and off
growing into the empty space
forking at the base
of my tendons

The rhythms
shaking us to the filament
are not enough
in the still wild wake
of the diseased watered lake
of the feelings

The rhythm ribbons
of shaking us to this: the predicament filament
come not curling up, enough and out
growing into the still
wild empty space wake
forking of the at,
diseased the watered lake base
of the tendons
of my feelings