Tiny Sticks

Tiny Sticks

Molten candles lit 3,100,000,000 times
my virgin vigil, not new but innocent and unexpected nonetheless
burly blues voices drudging at its best
paired with the sweetest haze of ash and smoke
a voodoo mess leaking from every nail hole in my walls
prayer don't seem to be workin' here no mo'
you be there, far
i still be here
folded limbs and sticks be my comfort ohm
all around me
ashen and parched sings a tongue which puts out every flame
from those tiny sticks
them sticks that drum, then sticks that bind
kindling you up out the bowl
just like i used to
and you'd come back to me eyes wide and shut
no sight, just blind
faithful to my studio
where i've cleared the sticks and fire away.

Goatee Men

Bald with pink lips
Waves and caramel skin
Braids with dipples in the cheeks
Locks with a long ring dangling to the chest
Strong-headed
Conditioned
Educated
conditioned
and conditioned again, my brotha.
Others a mere comic bubble gum wrapper
Cute on the outside
Bazookas only scare their mothers
Yet too kiddie for a college girl
A mix of clay and salt from the Red floor
Sweaty with grease from all the game
Maybe some play?
Murking up their basins with snippets
Of a swinging time

1:13am

Black lights
Revealing the long legacy
Bob Marley and his charcoaled mop
Symmetric design in the red streaks
In her eyes
The both of us
And Al Green
A crow speaking from the speaker
Of wild sex
And erotic pictures
Feathers and all
Nothing is better than bare feet
The moon shining its beams on a rusty cobb web
Makes all the difference
Losing us in the corner
Of a hell within
Fire blazing in our mouths
And on our joints as well
Enduring a truth
Fate is not real
But destiny is all but a testament
To save time we continue
To visit and re-live
To listen
Not to the world
Just the crude misfortune
Of the breath from our lungs

Three Quarter Moon

My candles are burning on a tiny speck of a wick
And someone's (Neo) Soul is just pouring out of my old Playback
All the right songs
About the beauty of life and love..
But now so is night
It models to me, revealing its finest assets
The whistle of the wind assuring me that you will call
Tonight
While the moon is out-shining through my window
At me
On me
Intense and bright
Most vibrant for its lack of completeness
And in it I see my name
And yours too...
Both names that shout a need for emergence
And soon all the wishing will launch us into a miracle
Bigger than my world
Yours
And all of theirs too
But can you believe there's more?
A quarter.
Trapped by black clouds, regretful
Machismo
Unfulfilled by your arrogance
because you won't strive for the piece that's been lingering close by
and just call

Hot Night Horoscope

Not a chocolate KISS or a red heart
I give you a Swedish Fish
It is Pisces swimming inside the Febrero issue
It promises fortune
Like an everlasting gleam that remains on your smile
In that old picture I took
Almost burned

Here.
It will help you on the real test
Like a lesson in sexology
It will make us a fly
Bound tight in a web
Spun in our own nest.

I am trying to be beautiful.

Not a burnt tapestry or a broken jigsaw puzzle

I give you a star
Its gold shape will mold and rot on the left quad
Of your beating heart:
Strong and pounding
For as long as it will pound
For as long as I will let it pound.

Take it.
Let the tender taste of those words dissolve in your cheek.
If you like
Bittersweet
Its scent will cling on your taste buds
Cling to the fresh pink paint on my walls.

Mouth Arrest

Sulken cheeks, vacuumed by a force
That gives a braced perception of purity and cleanliness
But reveals its barred and gnashed metal skin
Locking up a gasp so to take the life in a breath away
Palette painted pale pink plummeting, parched
From the secret of salvation
Much to uncomfortable for security
Lies awaiting more than just what is now so.
A prison of sorts
Defying the truth but still the audacity to wish for a first kiss
Detailing all heartbreak over and over: the unfortunate discovery
Of a punishing cheat.