Death comes easy.  Sleep does not. Heavy eyes seek refuge, wandering a sunlit colored room. Many nights, my life, a dream now forgot.   Deep thoughts in boiling beds rot, And cold walls devour my body, making ready a tomb. Death comes easy.  Sleep does not.   Through many sunny nights, a dream I've sought, But I tire and sink into my sheets of blue. Many nights, my life, a dream now forgot.   The late hours have me blood shot. I pretend to dream.  In ...

Forgotten my voice-- lost, it cries.

ven aca hechisera sit between my legs let me pleasure you with the sweet songs my fingers strum through your hair. te dire nena mia how much I love you and desire your tongue to knot with mine --not a lie, this whisper in your ear. hacercate querida...

We were dying inside Mother's Womb.

I used to be a Republican.

May “Oh, you’ve got to write your grandmother a poem!” My tia Gloria’s voice sent a surprise wake up call through the telephone receiver, my spine, and into my brain. I let the fact that I hadn’t written anything since the summer of ’07 bite me in the trasero and say “A poem?” My voice shook a little. The fear of having to express my “creative” work to only family was a bit daunting. All I imagined expecting was a “that was really good” and “you should write a novel” or “you’ve got real talen...

Honestly, six words can't describe me.

Grace Mommy is her name. I wouldn’t dare call her by her first. It’s too holy. We worship it. My mother the shining star, my beacon of hope, full of grace, es madre de mi vida. Es Rosa Mísitca. My mothers womb has carried much pain. We, my brothers, and I, have betrayed her. Somehow, it fits like a puzzle, What we’ve done in the past, A collection of unforgettable memories that stab her in the back, one by one. I was a good boy. I am a child, I remember Longing to be hidden away, “Put me back...

I wish I could get inside your head, eat your brain and know what you know. I wish I could put on your guitar and strum strum s t r u m all those chords and minors etc… I want you Sheryl Crow. I want you Sheryl Crow. I want you Sheryl Crow. I want to drown in your smile behind your pearly whites of truth. I want to get tangled in your hair and in the fingers you use to strum your guitar. I want to be your guitar, Sheryl Crow. Let me be your guitar, your diamond ring, that thing that makes you...

“I’m bored”, she says. “I’m on borderline alright. I’m boarding a plane with broad aisles”, She says betting on the time, betting that she’ll forget. I bet she won’t. And although her broadening mind grows with wisdom, There isn’t anything to cure her of her idiotism. Nothing to cure. Nothing to care. Nothing too rare. Nothing worth while… “Plus”, she says lighting a fag, “I’ve got my ways, You know, these tits didn’t come for free”. No, they didn’t. She exhales the smoke, “I’ve been ‘round f...