ten


it was at sunset
fire touching salty water
when the plane
began to burn

going in circles
looking like a ufo

we follow it
with binoculars
it looked as if
its wings were on fire

clouds are lifted
from the ocean
forming mythological creatures
posing between heaven and air

she can hold your hand if you want to


the girl
walks eating the letters
on her blouse

listening to small imports
honking their compact horns

driving through red lights
stop signs that serve as her eyes
fish market glances
glazed finished stares

your wheel of fortune
is not fast enough
they better call the red cross

because when they lay there
on their blood
bearing the smell of liquid red
they will see a shimmer of light
reflecting on the whitest of teeth
between the lips
in the center of the smile
of the paramedic sitting
next to you

the van will move slowly
through the night
on wet streets
wailing your name
spitting it loudly
through its
public address system

i write poems


los federales cruise
the same streets i do

they have a brand new car
new uniforms
government health care plan
paid vacation
confiscated lives

we drive under the same haven
tread on the same pavement
burn the same gas
look at the same stop signs

they write tickets
i write poems
they wear bulletproof vests
i write poems
they carry pistols
i write poems

they are incidental bureaucrats
i am an incidental poet
workers of wrath
i write poems

cost


half your laughter seems like a good price
a fair price to indulge in

the cost to keep the machine moving
the parts screeching
the horns honking
the metal twisting

an orchestra of your defiance
playing so close to your ears
massaging your soul
with the music of your heart

patience is only for those
who want to remain alive
who want to keep breathing
smiling in the midst of
a pond of adversity

tongue


language sometimes
is only a tongue
nothing more

it is the way you move it
to bring some meaning
into the noise that it utters

there is something animalistic
about a moving tongue

tasting with it
feeling with it
wrestling with it

cow tongue
hiding inside a tortilla
under the cover of red salsa

bloody tongue
visited by angry fangs
bleeding red salt
painting pink gums
neighbors of crowns
of cavities made
by explosions of sugar

the greatest of all traitors
is the tongue
it betrays you
each and every time

dust


you can not see dust at night
you can feel it
you can breathe it

breathing dust
is the makeup of dread
metallic lipstick

the sound
of bending strings
used guitars crying

grooving to the tune of smiles
the music of darkness
a pickup truck going down the hill
a trail of dust dancing

water fragrance


the ground smells wet
humid & moist
it is soft
a mattress of soil

just like when the herd
advanced gracefully
through the morning midst

i held my rifle in my arms
looking through the crosshairs
switching between targets

drawing an 8
with the barrel
it gently rained
on all of us