Siento Enojado

Siento enojado – cuando pienso de los malvados

Los ricos sin corazones – con caras falsas

que sienten nada buena por mi gente de la raza

ellos hablan mucho de los cosas no entienden

y no quieren por las familias ellos están ofenden

sin amor y compasión ellos hablan de “ilegales”

ellos creen el ley del mundo es el final de los reglas

hay un ley y un Señor – mas allá de un país

de familia, amor, y paz - agua y maíz

porquel mundo es de el Señor – no hay gente ilegales

yo dijo, las fronteras existen solo para defender sus ganas

si entiendo soy un hijo del poderoso padre

también – entiendo ellos son de mi sangre, solo de una otra madre

Claro que si, algunos gente hacen hechos mal

Y por eso necesitamos la policía – como luz y sal

Pero el masiado de la gente sin papeles – no estan criminales

No son héroes

Trabajando por sus familias – en reverencia y humildad –

Buscando por la voluntad de Dios – cuando los ricos viven en oscuridad

Voy gritar – como la voz de antiquidad
Por la gente – justicia – amor y libertad!

The Deplorable Thing

The deplorable thing about you, my friend,
is not your arrogant hubris;
it's certainly not your haughty conceit,
or that you are pompously priggish;
it has nothing to do with your ego or gall,
or the fact that you're awfully sententious;
it's just that you think that you're better than me,
which I deem ironic, pretentious.

in the summer, when the monstrous days sink away, promise me you won't look back

toes edge party lines
exacerbates indolent minds
aggravates cacaphonous sides
obfuscates impoverished sighs
kill your idols
kill your gods
take up your cross and follow me
over the edge
where the sea submerges silent screams
still sillhouettes sink solemnly
into patchwork skies.


The Lost Line

American lives are on the line:
Read - We're going to have to
go overseas and, with some mustered regret,
kill some more non-Americans
.

So much for the cost of freedom.

Whoever takes up his life
will loose it,
but whoever gives up his life
for my sake
will find it
.

A real time game of lost and found
and, it appears, many are not winning.
Freedom for protection.

lullaby in the first person

the ringing
wouldn't stop
wringing hands
a broken rib
brain damage
finally, silence
no, the ringing
doesn't stop, pulses
through a fog
a maze of manufactured
memories of long
term memory loss
hands in front
squinting
following
hiding
in plain sight
under pretense
of an identity
neither true nor false
concentrate, concentrate
no, the ringing
finally, silence
isn’t being quite
exactly
or rather it’s something
else than what had been
anticipated
an opening presents itself
through the fog
into a mist
follow it
a fugitive from silence
or so they think
little do they know
the machine has feelings too
it has a will, with hopes
and something else
recently forgotten
nevertheless
movement is inevitable
predetermined by a
god, but not the god
who having lost count
some time ago
hasn’t even noticed
him?

faith in progress

yesterday i climbed a fence
and when i looked back
it wasn't there

so i scaled a wall
and as i leaped over
the wind took it

intent, i subdued a vast sierra
of which the tallest peak
was swallowed by a tundra

then i heard a voice
whispering from behind me
nothing in particular

the cassowary of puerto rico

cornered,
captured,
killed,
the eccentric cassowary,
by vicious dogs,
was
dismembered,
decapitated,
devoured.

distantly,
approvingly,
conveniently
the man observed:
dogs hunt;
birds
fly,
hide,
or die.

this cassowary
got what he deserved,
encouraged,
desired.
this cassowary
flaunted his oddity,
his eccentricity,
his beauty
and died.



inspired by a bird (fourth photo from the left) and a boy