alexandre arnau

i like
red
it dances
for me
...

oftentimes
i find my voice
not to my liking
the sound of it
...

soaked in her
hormonal rage
acid mouth and toxic
deliverance
...

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
...

in the dull
dusk of
winter
i sit and watch
...

here's the thing

i've never considered
myself a poet
...

i watch
the cockroach
cross the floor
in appreciation
...

my uncle
and godfather
told stories
better than many
...

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
...

1.

and now
sitting here
...

take your hands
and dance
...

the same bleary eyed
sun
greets you at the door
on your way
...

i stare through my
reflection
in the window
of this room
...

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
...