These were all written on a typewriter in a little attic apartment in Berkeley, California. It was a year of confusion and sporadic clarity; a year of many disagreements with Mr. Monday and the mirror, but I had many friends, good friends. We sat in circles in this attic apartment, in this chambre, in this Cuartito Techero, and played music and read poetry and reached for our hearts and extremities and flesh, which caused even more confusion. It was also a time of creation and transformation, even transfiguration in certain cases… It was a stir-fry of youth, vehemence and great intentions, and these shuffled pages were drawn from it, from the most truthful deviance. Thank you for coming.
With this Kafkian obsession
Waiting,
for some Metamorphosis to have mercy
on our souls,
Yearning,
for our mirrors to wither,
Craving,
for our hands to loose.
In the midst
of egocentrical dirty fingernails,
of cuddled decadent livers
who whisper and hiss
and poke my ribs.
As I sit in silence
and pour whiskey in my mouth
and look for understanding
and attempt to love the void.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

To a Wonderful Woman #2

Half Moon Bay, California
02/25/08

Vow at my doom
I was your cocoon.
Don’t mind my flesh
its not what it says.
Embrace these withered fists,
be stronger than me,
weep my retreat,
heal my disease.

Don’t be my shadow,
weave my Nirvana,
Don’t dwell on my past
it is what it was.
Send me out to the wild
when the time is right.
Ignore my intention
desire my redemption.
Don’t burn your suicide,
cease your vocation.
Review my success
in the lines of disgrace.

Pardon my mood
never is how it should.
Save one lock of my hair
for when I am not aware.
Vow at my doom
I was your cocoon.
Don’t grieve in my mourning,
just thank you for coming.
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1 comment:

  1. bonesAugust 15, 2009 at 9:09 PM

    i miss our days. hopefully, i will see you again someday, on a silver moon-lined roof.

    ReplyDelete

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