Poetagain

I am.

Lunarly

Tú me quieres gorda

no voy a comer, consumir, conducir, confundir
confuso, he corrido a caer desde donde lo conocí
comí y hice convicciones. rechazo, y decidí a reconocer
el carácter más central
el yo--
yo al centro yo al camino al cual quiero sistuir
al centro
el axis del mundo 
yo capturo dentro la cola eterna en que todos fijan--
dedicados a la causa que no pueden contar
sumisos al futuro no están seguros que quieren realizar


La Cola Eterna

climb inside

Joe 
1 cup, 3 pours
placed beside the notebook
leather bound
keeps score.
3 Kids
2 Wives
one new, one old-
outweighed the weight of those heavy baggage claims
claims he's mentally insane
instigator instigate hatred to his name
rain soaked bathrobe
cause he won't go inside 
basks in disaster 
exit sign
sees scenes like c'mon
stop taking notes on tragedy
but he writes.
writes like magic-
mastery that mystifies the captive in front of his mirrors 
uncomfortable, expressions, unwarranted
glimmer all around him
you can't hear a sound but he's roaring with glee
rabbits rush the stage all around him
hymns, not top hats
black white or asian
doesn't matter 
lab rats-- 
his tiny subjects subjected to such subtle manipulation
they confused the art with it's author one ought to know
art-
emanates-
from-
some-
where-
now it's time to wrap-up
that's it folks
act back in a bag
next venue 
next joke-
Jack Daniels neat-
3 shots
3 keys
Coke--
Cola, like tail, like line
lined up to watch himself waste every night
She didn't matter
people only matter if you mean them to
mean he's been called
cruel
a fool
Boof, there goes another year
tack on another 7 
he's fingering the microphone
the lover he 
caresses and
cares for
for a second there he thought he saw 
a face he'd fallen for before,
way back
years and yesterday she creeped into the corridors at the foreground of his mind
and he didn't shoo---
And there she was,
the only SHE there ever really was
girl, chick, bitch, nah, a lady
the ONE-
a breeze of perfection by the setting sun
but really
it's silly to postulate on such a romantic notion
to think Joe,
in his wrinkled suit of cynicism
could circulate a hot iron upon his prisms 
and know love
nahh, not true--
listen and he'll tell you.  

Vulnerability Hangover