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La muerte no mata a nadie
Lo que mata es la suerte
O la avaricia excessiva
que consume y desea
Pues todo en esta vida tiene un ruido
Hasta los pasos de la calaca
Aunque empinadita venga
Como quiera claquea, la vaga

Dichoso el que con suerte
lo deja con susto
cuando lo sorprende
Jodido el que con muerte
La calaca ofende

Y por vicho dicho
Siempre hay unos pocos locos
Que se enamoran con su sombra
Y hasta serenata le cantan
A la huerita olorosa
Pero a la hora de la hora
Se acurrucan debajo de la alfombra
Dejándo la pobre vestida y alborotada
Que pesar me da! Que hombre!
Pero no se preocupen, caballeros
Esta nunca pierde o empata
El fin se espera
Pues la calaca sabe
Que el tiempo no le falta
Y la vida no le sobra

Jugando en playground con la huerita
Le pregunté, “Oye huerita,
Es verdad que la gente se muere de stress,
Son muchas las emociones
Almacenadas en el corazón,
Te las llevas bonitas cierto?
Dije vanidosiando un poquito,
Para que joderse tanto en esta vida
Si alómenos no te puedes morir lindo?”

Y ella noto, en mi cara,
La contorción de mi vida
Que jalaba y me puleaba
Y me mortificaba y recodaba
memorias en cada esquina

Y cantando me contesto:
Como tú lo quieras mi negrita,
Como tú lo quieras
Alrevez, al costado y al pasado,
La muerte es muerte,
Por eso no miento.

Tu mi lloroncita,
Me susurras inútilmente:
Vive esta vida bonita
Goza de todito
Para que así mueras bonita

I decided to combine two forms of Spanish poetry in the calacas section. Bombas are seemingly light sayings that make fun of everyday life or love. Typically done in the state of Veracruz, Mexico. Calacas are fun verses, not necessarily rhyming but personifying death, (la huera, calaca, etc) and often poke fun at situations, people or death itself. Calacas are done for the Mexican Day of the Dead Festival.

mouth

in front of the pen,
sometimes within the reason
how many? how much?
what have I got to loose? feed me mother
come to me wise sailor/plankton/protein
silenced: not closed, just never opened
never closing even if it eats decay
OMG, is that a cold sore?
hurl it, chunk it, barf it just spit it back out
make them form words
like a road kill alphabet soup
make it count, make it versed
make it…eloquent
pinch your lips in best interest
it wasn’t me that killed him,
it was his left brain that took coup
And when nothing makes sense,
make it feed back
to where it all came from
to where it will all go

rectum

Picture contributed by XCF

Living without you is,

a sorrowful sigh and a shiver of loneliness
it’s three nigths of helpless insomnia
a month of confusion
and a lifetime of regret
it is the torment of my solitude with a sea of silence
it’s a bitter and stale coffee, swallowed hard on an empty soul
it’s a paper without news with words that have no meaning
it is a timeless day and an endless death
it’s a drop of rain without a sound
film with no screen
and a lack of music that confuses this old land

because without you
there is no warmth to an embrace
no sensuality to a kiss
no escape to a sweet touch

Living without you, is…impossible.

Check out the audio here: life-wo-u.wma. It will download to your computer.

The bum was about to finish his sly-looking-cool-while-begging routine as he approached our table, when he was so rudely interrupted. “Keep walking,” X pointed west. The man was unkempt, stunk, and had a nasty way of spitting. Yeah…there was no way I wanted this man around my 8 oz of $9 dollar ice cream, but I didn’t want any problems with some vagrant who has nothing to loose. The bum retorted, “You ain’t gotta be that way, all I asked…”

“And all I said was keep walking! In fact, let me help you out, Louisiana is back that way.” X pivots and points east, “You’re walking in the wrong direction, buddy, that way!” The finger was a command now. This was no a bs moment, take a stand and deal with it. I, on the other hand, was a bit uneasy, thinking: Did you just say that? OMG, that was so politically incorrect, who’s watching, better not be Oprah! What are you doing sitting there having a fight with a bum? How’d he know he was from Louisiana? Dude, he’s walking away just sit there and become invisible. It’s okay. My little ears peeked and I was discreetly clutching my purse waiting for the right time to yell, “Call the police, NOW!”

Instead, I decide to look at him straight in the eyes and with the calmest, softest, most sensuous tone I could muster, “Baby…” Didn’t even work for a couple of seconds…but to my defense the bum shook his fist and the cane in the air, shouting down the block, “Lets see what you got! You’re too scared to come over here!!” The bum’s yellow teeth glowed down the strip center as he beckoned with his hand,” You ain’t man enough! Come here!! That’s what I thought!” (Yeah, there’s just no way any woman can compete in a game of chicken.)

“No, YOU Come here!” X stands up, cotton t-shirt and shorts, stretching all 5′9 of him to the most peaked capacity. “Come on buddy, I’M WAITING!” The bum walks out of view and I sigh and laugh with relief. “How’d you know he was from Louisiana? And, why did you want to fight the bum? I was content just feeling invisible.” Now the next thing is what got me. In his driest most terse voice, he says, “By the accent. I’ve been dealing with these people since I was riding the bus at the age of 14. First, is can I have a dime, then, its can I have a dollar. Hey what the hell happened to a dime? Get a JOB! This is bs, why do I slave, riding the bus, working, so this guy just goes and begs it?!! And then he’s gonna come around my food?! Get a JOB, because you are taxing the economy!” Wow. He’s got a point. We are so afraid of calling things out like they are, even when it’s a social faux pa, that we forget that we are defined by our happiness, boundaries and respect. If I allowed fear to get the better of me, I would have allowed the bum to rob me of savoring every bit of my ice cream, of not having a voice and speaking up, even not pursuing my artistic work to the fullest. Fear is an emotion some people need to check, but if you’re doing the right thing in an honest manner, then why should you need fear? I turned back to look at X in a different light, cool…his lack of fear inspired me…aaawwww…WHEN the bum walks right back around on the other side….

Here we go again. The bum had renewed his energy by walking around the corner and now he was flapping his mouth nonstop. X rose to the occasion once more and now they were shouting. “Hey, man be careful crossing the street, you might need another cane for that other leg.” I bust out laughing, obnoxious but funny, you must admit. The high school kid walks out to apologize for the bum and offers to get rid of it for us. “Naw, just look at him! He is more afraid of going to jail than anything else.” The bum now enlists the white skinny tattooed crack head in torn jeans, and after a couple of exchanges the crack head starts charging from across the street at full force toward our table. “You got to be kid’n me! Look at this crap.” X turns around and wiggles his butt to the crack head. “Right here buddy, right here!” Now both the kid and I are laughing, “Sir, you want me to…” “Naw, you’re good.” X turns around to place the finishing stamp on the match, “That’s what I THOUGHT!”

We finished our ice cream and I walked back to the car clutching my purse and drove out the opposite direction from them. Hey, I know when you’re out of safe zone. X laughed and called me darling. He was still complaining about a nine dollar ice cream.

What’s the point of a fervescence pill or a coffin?
I want to be hot, foul and angry,
Like the tip of leather whip snapping
Or a plumber’s new underwear
When the day’s been hot,
The work exhausting
And the ac out,
But the underwear still perseveres for existence
Like that, that’s the way I want to be

I want to feel every pore of my body when it sweats,
Every pimple on my skin that postulates,
Ferments,
Inebriates without asking for my permission first!
From morbid curiosity, I want know the location
Of every malodorous crust
Burgeoning deep inside the solid of my body
EVEN, the foul fecal matter
That pours, squirts, plops out of my body,
That counts too,
Just my own

Life is not always beautiful
Even with tears, frustrations and desperations–
bloodied and painful from romances that left me weak, thin, and sad,
Spotting the ju-jitsu mat with exhaustion more than once,
Searching how to make bills,
And giving up wasn’t an option
Wiped clean like they never happened before dinner–
But living the moment in its entirety is

I am tired of hesitating, perpetuating, always and continuating
I want to enjoy the soft flower petal caressing my face
Before I die
Bring on the dog eat dog showdown,
Pierce a tooth into your lip
And hold you down so you won’t forget me
So you’ll feel your blood run
So I can fall in love with you,
loving life, loving me