Harvest Season

Poetry

Soft grey clouds frame
the flat green milpa.
Jagged rocks sprout
atop each other from blood
red dirt forming a solid
stone fence.

A solitary figure stoops
pulling earnings from Earth.
Corn stalks wave hi to him.

Scarecrow’s flannel: thin.
We can’t spare the good ones.

He doesn’t complain.

El campesino moves
slowly, revealing his spirituality
to the dirt, praying with potato bugs
and centipedes.
Niños de la tierra.

“Gracias a Dios,” he says
moving toward the rock fence.
He shifts stones to go home,
replacing his broken path of red
rocks and adobe pieces
before leaving.

The fence will be there
one more day.

Psalm

Love Poetry, Poetry

when I consider Your heavens, the work
of fingers, moon and stars shine
exploding in sulfuric red dust and
mind ash spreading
into grey oblivion

when I consider Your earth, the work
of eons of patience, canyons and deserts
widen like Her eyes
at the sight of You

I wish my body could take Her
there
again
and again

when I consider the body You gave Her
that mind that fits my patchwork
my heart crushes my abdomen
and I wish for a new soul to live
up to Her’s and Your prophets’

in those moments it hurts
to have once lost
Faith in You

Apple Cores

Poetry

(for Siri)

there’s a meaning of life found in the core of an apple that we can’t find

there’s a core meaning in an apple that I can’t find, and neither can you

there’s a meaning of cores in apples and life that god can’t find too

a meaning in apples at the core of life, that god can’t find, does not mean it’s because of you

there’s a meaning that can’t be found because god is not in you

there’s a meaning god doesn’t want you to find because of you

god can’t find a meaning in apple cores for you

there’s a meaning god can’t find; nor can you

Tombstone

Love Poetry, Poetry

No one ever said it would be easy living with You, but it was much more difficult to die.
No one ever said it would be easy to die, but it was much more difficult living with You.

No one ever said it was difficult living, but it was easier dying with You.
No one ever said it was difficult dying, but it was easier living with You.

No one ever said I would live, but I did, and it was easiest with You.
No one ever said I would die, but I did, and at that time I knew.

No one ever said a difficult thing, until You.
No one thing ever said difficult, until You.

No one ever said difficult You.
You never said difficult too.

You never said.
Never said You.

You, never.
Never, You.

Q & A

Poetry, Unorthodox Poetry

L: Nah seriously, I’s wrapped in toilet paper.

L: Nah, I ‘on’t ‘mem’er how.

L: I think it all started when I’s thirteen. I wanneda be gangsta like them kids who wore them ugly stripe shirts from tha indoor swap meets.

L: Yeah. Yeah, those ones that had fuzzy fabric on tha thick black stripes. Yeah, I thought I’s cool. But hey, at least I didn’ wear them nasty neon fanny-packs from tha eighties, a’ight. Hahahahaha.

L: I would say I started dressin’ like that back in tha mid-nineties. It must’a been actually more like, ‘99? ‘98? I ‘on’t know, I ‘on’t really ‘mem’er.

L: Do you ‘mem’er them ol’ Rollin’ Hard t-shirts? Yeah, those with the half-neck’ed girls ‘n lowriders? Yeah. I started rockin’ that shit ‘round ’96, ’97. I’s really one of the vatos then. That’s when I started burning El Pachuco on trash cans ‘n shit. I’s small time then. Mostly hitting my sketchbook. I thought I’s the shit, then. Had no regard for myself in those days.

L: Huh, wha’? Waddaya mean?

L: Oh, well, to put it straight, I ain’t give a damn about anythin’, man. I’s psycho. I wanneda take myself out this world, and travel to the next dimension, man. Yaknaw-I’m-sayin’? I’m talkin’ suicide. I ain’t actually try anythin’ then. I ain’t do that ‘til I hit 20. 21.

I cut myself one day at work wit’ ma pocketknife. I’s working at Sears at the time, ‘n I said fuck it. There’s nobody in the Lawn ‘n Garden Department or Fitness Department, so I said fuck it. I heated ma knife wit’ a lighter I bought and said fuck it. I ran that shit hot across ma forearm ‘n cut myself as deep as I could.

I figure by cuttin’ ‘n burnin’ myself at the same time I’d avoid having blood dripping all over. See, it was premeditated ‘n shit.

L: Yeah, I’s confused then. I wanneda die ‘n see how many people’d really care. I fine’ly came to tha conclusion that tha only people that it’d matter ta were ma brother ‘n sister. I fine’ly fo’gave my dad for leaving ‘round that age too. I learned he love me too. ‘N then there’s ma grandma. I couldn’ break her heart either. I ‘on’t know what I’d do without her in my life. I wouldn’ be tha man I am today.

L: I ‘on’t really wanna talk about it no more. I tol’ you. I’s given a fair chance like e’erybody else. At leas’ tha’s what I tell myself. I made it this far ‘cuz it was ma destiny to. Tha’s all I’m sayin’. God wanned me to do this.

L: Aight then, tha’s cool. Hit me up when the next show comes ‘round. I might see you. I might not. Ha.

Hey, man, I can’t guarantee shit. I come ‘n go like the wind, my frien’. I ‘on’t stand still for no one. Just don’t tell ma girl that. Hahahahahaha.

L: Peace.

Dogma de Fe

Love Poetry, Poetry

Dios, nunca pensé
que me
fueras dar
vida, cariño, amor, merced. Nunca
lo sentí. Y

ahora entiendo que
es mi misión
servirte. Es mi
entendimiento que soy
un arma de fuego por ti.
Un AK-47 tirando
balas y quemaduras
por ti. Descargaré

en tu nombre,
Señor, sobre las ruedas
del mundo monocromático y
lo bañaré de colores del cielo en alba,
lo esculcaré y pintaré
mi nombre igual como el tuyo
y juntos amaremos a nuestros semejantes
como amamos hoy
los perros,
fieles a sus maestros. Soy

tu bendición y
eres el mío.

Ella lo es también.

Ella pronuncia tu nombre,
y me enseñó hablar
tu idioma,
idioma de dogma,
idioma de fe,
idioma de pálpitos
del corazón, hipo
de bebé, y repeticiones
de carros nauseabundos.
Lo bueno de la vida

es ella, y tu
y yo
lo sabemos.
Lo sabemos como
sabemos cuales muertos
ruegan por nosotros,
ruegan por sus madres,
ruegan por vidrios empañados con
carteles de cloroformo. Dios

santo y sagrado, me dijiste
en un sueño que eres
el poeta, y
te lo creí. Ahora

dime, ¿cuáles son
tus favoritas palabras?