oftentimes
i find my voice
not to my liking
the sound of it
...
and now
as i ready myself
to face my death
my enemy stands
...
it's a warm sunday night
in puerto rico
and my father likes to
rub that in
...
she sat there
with her hands piled
in carefully arranged
origami prayer folds
...
dice thrown from rough hands
karma decided from this:
the sound of a cup
...
here's the thing
i've never considered
myself a poet
...
i watch
the cockroach
cross the floor
in appreciation
...
you broke the dawn ceilings
dragging the roots
of midnight's trees
behind you
...
1.
la noche caía en suaves
olas opalescente
tranquila danzas brillantes
...
in a place called home
stands a strange kind of nothing
where we used to be
...
the same bleary eyed
sun
greets you at the door
on your way
...
she has a way about her
that cuts right through the doubt
with machine gun haste
from a razor cut mouth
...
how long has it been
since you last changed yourself
always running
from what you were
...
Red
i like
red
it dances
for me
rolling
down my fingers
so pretty
red
the way
she dances
so pretty
the red
makes it
better
the floor
shiny
with red
in patterns
i can see them
like butterflies
or faces
dancing
across the patterns
making
new patterns
she makes them
singing
red
so happy
with the singing
and dancing
the red
dances with her
like the rain
on my window
red
so much red
my whole world
red
my hands
red
her pretty dress
red
the floor and walls
red
redredred
so happy
and red
she sang
from the red
on her throat
like a flute
or a fountain
so red
red red red
dancing spasms
to music
on the floor
and in my head
red
whole world red
redredred