Saturday, May 31, 2008

Desfile Tribal

Desfile tribal por la calle de piedras, por el jardín verde, por las paredes de teatros antiguos.
Caminando, bailando, girando por la guerra, la lluvia, y los muertos.
Gotas contra los tambores, las baquetas contra piel como un aplauso de trueno.
Plumas-espadas, creciendo de las cabezas, girando, afilados, apuntando al cielo.
Armas de música, los sonajeros apuñalando el aire. Dedos de sonajeros peinando las piedras y la piel de los hombres.
Sangre eléctrica debajo de las mujeres, cerca de las niñas sonajeras, girando, plumitas afiladitas, pavos reales creciendo de las cabezas, florecitas, pétalos apuñalando el aire suavemente, como respirando, cayendo ritmo.
El jefe detrás, siguiendo, girando más lento, plumas de lanzas, manos de sonajeros, peleando, respirando, bailando al otro lado de sangre brillante, de los hombres, de las piedras. Seguido por Ángeles, plumas blancas, puras circulas, y luces débiles, alitas reluciendo, batiendo con las baquetas contra piel, respirando con los sonajeros.
She stood, a bright blue prize
the color of heat in a comet's tail
the glimmering butterfly
one would like to see behind cotton bars,
and pin down behind a glass frame
tucked away in the trunk of memory.

she was my comet
bright, then blending with the night sky
lost amongst the florescent flowers
strewn across the black blanket in which we sleep.

Blue like a stranger just ordered me a drink
I'm staring into a glass of liquid sapphire
asking myself, should I ingest this?
Because that's what she was
a tall slender glass radiating toxicity
not enough to make a man ill,
but as if she was dripping delirium on my tongue.

A bolt of butane.
when I blinked she blended with sky
drowned in a crowd of a thousand strangers.

Friday, May 30, 2008

Drunken Serotonin

Hate I do not feel unless it is placed inside my body.
Entering like hot metal.
An injection of black adrenaline,
cold steel stinging my veins,
drugging my serotonin.
Eyes drunkenly beating
like a one-winged butterfly,
a toxic tear from the mind,
a swatted fly circling solid air
dense like power of a rolled up glare,
confused like the missing key of a typewriter.
Holding breath beneath water,
a flintless-fire-starter,
drowned grass in a lawnmower,
the hydraulic kick of a hair follicle,
a compressed cat's eye stressed within a marble.
The naked thread of an unraveling dress
anticipation of sex in front of a closed door,
or how a dam pours pressure from a nearly still mirror
and everything you thought you could see
reflects everything you can't believe
everything that shouldn't be a human being.
Regret is the enemy that makes it possible to feel,
or impossible to reveal
unless you turn, like loose leaf pages of steel.