Publications The following journals all have First North American Serial Rights
SFSU's literary Journal- 14 Hills-Volume 13.2
No Wonder You Were Afraid to Ask
SDSU's Literary journal- Redlit Magazine-Volume 2
The End of All Cliches
Pemmican Press -The best in political poetry-Archived
El Dia Sin Los Inmagraciones (May 1st, 2006)
Smash All the Clocks
When Kingdom Comes Undone
Who's Watching Over the Gods so They Don't Hurt Us
Alphabet Sloop
Merge Poetry -Spring/Summer 08
Faux-lk Tale
It Only Makes Sense When You Look at it Cross-Eyed
Poetry
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From
Nowhere to Nothing |
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Genesis
of Poesia
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Genesis
of Poesía
Pemmican
Press First North American Serial Rights
1.
In the days before Neruda
transformed the line and the word
2.
the poem resembled an empty
vacuum and beggars searched under the ocean, while a light from space
crawled through the infinite darkness.
3.
Suddenly Pablo jotted down,
“Make Letters form words;” and words became thoughts.
4.
And Pablo asked that the
wind stand still; and Pablo borrowed the beauty from the flowers.
5.
Pablo named the tree vida,
and the rain he named sangre.
And time became silence and mind became motion the right way.
6.
and Pablo composed, “Let peace
make a home in the eye of the war, and let it shelter the enemy from his
anger.”
7.
So Pablo tamed the
killers and bathed the wounded who trudged on the roads from the lands
that encircled the globe. And time stood still.
8.
Pablo named the birds felicidad.
And eagles spread wings and doves took flight, the primitive
journey.
9.
And Pablo recorded, “Permit
the beggars around the garbage be taken openly into every home, and make
the saddened heart disappear.” And time stood still.
10.
Pablo named the mighty wind musica,
and the clouds that formed paintings together he named el obra
maestra. And Pablo knew
that it created happiness.
11.
Soon after Pablo wrote down,
“Allow the meek to have riches: hearts bearing love, and a brain with
knowledge in it.” And
thoughts broke out.
12.
The blind witnessed visions:
rainbows created arches of unknown colors, and spirits of past ancestors
reveled in the mystery of them. And
Pablo noted that it created esperanza.
13.
And earth started spinning and
time started moving, la primera danza.
14.
And Pablo continued,
“Make earth bathe in the pool of the universe to baptize the
good into the evil; and grant them faith and for minutes and for
seasons and centuries.
15.
and help them to change in the
shadow of the moon to spread hope upon the ground.” And the earth bore
fruit.
16.
Pablo created the most profound
poetry—the inner gift to calm the mind and the natural ability to
right the wrong—and the words.
17. Pablo planted them in the depths of the ground to spread brotherhood upon the earth, to dance around the mind and burn through the soul, and to create the idea from nothing. And Pablo mended broken dreams.
Without Words a lot of Things Wouldn’t
Exist
Without words
war wouldn’t exist
table
dog
chair
might
be names
for children
toys
maybe nicknames
for flowers
children
toys
and flowers
names for stones
diamond
a name
for the hair in your
nose.
Sentences might sound
like this:
In diamond the as dog’s
backbone
sprayed
grass giraffe
translated in the future
means:
what happened to our earth,
am I
alone on this planet?
Snowflake
banana song
might mean
is
this the Garden of Eden?
Dear Mr. Postman/God
1.
That one thing
that you’ll be
remembered
for
is happening
right now
yesterday
tomorrow
never.
Suicide
These moments
2.
when that
instant/instance
shows
itself,
I’ll write it on
an envelope
a napkin
toilet paper.
Over
the bump of a vein
or
seven new wrinkles
on the back of my hand.
Ink rivulets
in skin
ballpoint rivers
drain into
a delta
crevasse memo
tributary note
3.
—Return to sender
insufficient postage
moved—
we don’t live here
anymore—
than
you .
Created in Someone’s
Image
One touch of the backspace key
on my computer
and civilizations are wiped out.
Dreams flatten,
Oceans dry up,
Roses turn black,
Angels drop like flies
Spinning,
dying on their backs.
Hope is deleted
Love letters not sent
Poems unwritten,
Marriages of words
Dissolve.
Songs screech to a halt
and back-up.
Famous writers
eat out of trashcans.
Deer graze out of reach
of stalking tigers.
Suns never set.
If I Ever Grow Up
If I could be anything
I would be a bubble
floating
from the o-shaped mouth
of a child.
Bouncing on air
full of life
a sphere of breath
going nowhere far
creating joy on my
journey
a silent pop
filled with a child’s giggle.
In a Minute of Dreams
I’m the detached
deaf ears
dangling
from a soldier’s sweaty
neck
in Vietnam.
Auschwitz
my skin
leaks shadows
on the wall
of
a Nazi making love
the night before it all
ends.
In the empty Sahara
last grain of sand
holding on for dear life—
brushed to the floor
rolled underneath the bed
flicked by the bogeyman
picked up by the sandman
crushed
turned to dust—
sprinkled into
a young girl’s eyes.
Turn over on my pillow
slobber runs
down my cheek
turn,
slurp,
wipe.
A long hallway before me
a door marked Africa.
My mother kisses my
forehead—
wake up—
a lion roars.
If Dreams Overlap
When people wear other
people
and
reality takes over sanity
people break into halves
then again.
Tears are no measurement
for human sadness.
Words
undermine
everything that I write
from here on out
things like—
if nothing had a name
you naked
could mean
Candice smiling.
Do
You Mind Sleeping In?
Today you may wake up
and realize
that you like me a little
less.
I may feel the same
but,
that is just me
pushing you away.
The toughest thing
is push never comes to
shove
it is used best
to hold up the wall
between us.
Watch
Your Shadow Dance Away
Do something boring
Paint cobwebs
in the corners of your
ceilings.
Have the mirror
look into you.
Erase the first line
of the love letter
you’re writing.
Try to stop your heart.
Read a book backwards
From the last letter
to the first.
Rub the soap with your
skin.
Fertilize the lawn
with shampoo.
Uncomb your hair
Untie your shoes
Drive backwards to work
looking forward.
Make your clock run
counter clock-wise
Sleep under your bed
with the boogeyman.
Don’t smile in a photo
don’t say cheese.
Eat dry spaghetti.
Don’t find your keys.
Look into someone’s
eyes and tell them
you pick your nose
and love it.
Put out your cigarette
with gasoline
while holding it
with your toes.
A
Bird or a Plane?
On the news the other
day,
I heard about a family
gathered at the dining
room table.
A UFO rocketed through
the roof
exploded their meal
into
a buffet of chaos.
The FAA claimed it was
human excrement
that had not
disintegrated properly
after the plane had
emptied its bowels
all over the earth.
Others interviewed
thought it was just a
sudden,
unexplainable,
sprinkle
on a cloudless day.
What the Hell’s a Lexicon?
Return to top
If I was going to write a
poem
about my lexicon— a
word I’d never use,
it will probably start
like I started this poem.
I’d write:
my lexicon isn’t big
but it does the job.
It isn’t the size that
matters
but the motion
in my elocution.
I like small words like
beer, shit, and sun.
Speaking in big words is
too much work,
like walking uphill—
both ways.
Most people don’t
understand anyway.
The big words I use are
pornography,
motherfucker, and love.
I’m
exhausted.
I wipe the sweat off my
forehead
and write the only words
I know.
If this is my lexicon
there’s nothing I can
do
but display it proudly
and hope the ladies
don’t laugh
when they take it all in.
Autopsy
of a Life Deferred
When
determining the cause of death,
Medical
Investigators label it one of five ways:
Accidental—
Didn’t
mean to.
Suicide—
Meant
it.
Homicide—
Passion,
Rage.
Undetermined—
Lack
of knowledge.
Natural—
Maybe
old age.
I bet mine will be
accidental.
No!
Suicide.
No!
Homicide.
No!
Natural.
No!
Undetermined.
Maybe
I’ll explode!
An
accidental
suicidal
homicidal
naturally
undeterminable
death.
Closet Poet
This is how the poets
get all the girls.
First of all,
“Do that many men
not share their feelings
that we have to leave
pleasing our women
to the pansy ass
poets?”
“What does that say
about us?”
“Flowers get all the
girls
humans get nothing but
heartache from poetry.”
In Dog We Trust
If we proclaimed dogshit
money
kennels would become
banks—
milk bones
investments
shoe
bottoms—checkbooks
lawns—mints.
We’d all become
hounds or bitches
sniffing
rear-ends
for
a withdrawal
making deposits instead
with
no interest—
doggie-style economy.
Litters of young
stockbrokers—
house—
broke.
If dogshit was money—
a dollar’s worth
would still be worth a dollar
but,
you would never have to
worry
about where you step.
I Watched My Brother Slowly Die
…and,
I couldn’t do
anything about it—
nothing.
—muscle deteriorates
under
the weight of gravity
—brain cells slip away
out of sight
take memory chunks
(the past)
oozes up through pores
resurfaces
on the back of a hand
as sweat
evaporates
into rain.
Eyes
tell millenniums of
stories
souls
upon
souls
layers of skin
wrapped tight
around houses of bones
surround
out of tune organs.
Single notes
that need each other—
refrain.
Blood Brothers
Abuelos, padres,
hermanos, hijos
in a row, shoulder to
shoulder
trembling fear
transmitted
from one soul to the next
never question their
decision
already committed.
At the end of a rifle
one purpose
so their sons will never
be there, ever
at the rifle’s end or
bullet’s rigid kiss.
Silent sun rising.
Dew dripping like blood
off the grass.
Clouds cover heaven’s
eyes.
Death’s aroma resounds
in the singing vultures
overhead.
Ready,
aim,
fire!
Triggers are depressed
bullets dance a morbid
jig
leading the procession
a parade of death.
Proud Men slump.
Scared men collapse.
Honorable and dignified
men
cease to exist.
Pre-determined
non-negotiable
skillfully planned out
executed.
A plot of land excavated.
Men poured in.
Hombres orgullosos.
Hombres asustados.
Hombres honorables y
dignificados.
Corpse upon corpse
heads upon chests
arms upon legs.
Cast in the red soiled
dirt.
Eyes can’t tell the
difference
once the earth’s
blanket is tucked in.
Souls drowning
in a crimson lake of
silt.
There, so their sons
will never have to form
that same chain link
only to be broken.
El Dia Sin Los
Inmagraciones (May 1st, 2006)
Pemmican Press First North American Serial Rights
Build your 700-mile wall
North/South America
New Germany
a great wall
keeping in
something
that is not
half as good as
what is on the other side
but, you can’t see this
don’t want to.
Just wait.
We’re building
ladders
high enough
to reach the heavens
We will fall
like angels
onto the other side
and save you.
Just
Because We Don’t Understand
the way the wooden wheel
turns—
sloshes through
a puddle of slain
sadness.
A world
wrapped tight
in gray wool
hung
from long beards.
A Holy Land.
I Do Like Surprises
Quit doing that to me
put away those eyes
always watching
merry-go-round mind
seesaw brain
balance an egg on the
fingertip of an angel
Take off that smile
that has saved me
more times
than you even know
you want to hide it,
pull it out for special
occasions
maybe
someday
on that holiday
of your happiness
you will pull it out
put it back where it fits
best
and the world smiles
at
the same time
because
of you.
Let me crawl into your
mind
pull the lever
that
makes you smile—
I guess I look all right
through your eyes.
I didn’t know
you ache
when you see me—
an icky ache
the kind that makes
people
wonder how cruel
the creator was
who invented love.
Laughter must be like
breathing
in the heaven of that
wicked creature
who knew that men and
women
men and men
women and women
just cannot get along
but,
that’s all right
for tonight.
I am going to sit up here
with my hand on this
lever
watch you smile in your
sleep
hope that it is because
of me.
I vowed when I met you
but you didn’t know it
that I would always have my
hand on that lever
every
once in a while
I fall asleep.
I will never know the key
to what makes you smile,
I never will.
I decided not too long
ago
yesterday
a
year ago
while
you read this
to give myself to you.
Take what you want of me,
I won’t miss a leg
an eye
the shape of my words
this poem that
fits you like a dress.