i can see forever reflected in your eyes. in your scales, too.

June 21st, 2009 § 4

Péché Mortel Stout

i think everything’s gonna be okay but i have to map things out so i can move on full steam. i need a schedule. i need a team. i need a medivac crackerjack with a hacksaw and a dream. i need a tattooed third-eyed coffee-girl to wake me up with cream. i need a doe-toed plum-tongued bronze-strummed woolly velvet butter-laden seam. ooohh the ibuprofen did its magic for the moment and cut me off from the squirming static shaddering from a broken molar radio tower. and i even think that before long if i juggle my jobs and obligods right, i can strain out enough to lure the dentist into lending me his esteem.

for father’s day i got a puppy. luna got me a puppy. well, not really. more accurate would be to say that luna became a puppy for father’s day. that is, she peed on everything. she’s potty trained, but not fully independent with it. i must have forgot to have her go before bedtime, so she peed in my bed. and then the next morning on my chair, my computer chair. and the floor in my room as she hopped off the chair. it’s my fault. i didn’t adhere to the schedule of stops she needs to keep herself dry. in the end, she peed in so much stuff that i had nothing left to dress her in, and had to dig into the jumble in the closet to find something. so i spent most of the day doing laundry and scrubbing things and still it smells like pee to me. it may just be my overstimulated olfactory nerves but i’ll do some more cleaning tomorrow just to make sure everything is…well, not “golden,” but yanno. clean. what a day. yeh. when i realized she peed on my chair i just had to laugh.

pain and urine. it’s a sunday to soak into. and isn’t today some kind of holiday?

salud!

the petal-thin hands of pain

June 21st, 2009 § 0

the pain is everywhere, it is a dancer, a frantic dancer, my nerves are fluttering with sensation so pure it is poignant, it is an orchestration of  song, my body melting into strains of  what might be music, i can’t be sure, it all bends during the intense moments and things overlap, i feel the roots of my dying tooth viciously sprouting into my jaw, i rub my neck to try and stop it from spreading, but i cannot, the heat flares up under my skin, my eyebrow, gently claw at my forehead to try and grab it, my skin shudders agony but then it fibrillates into near-orgasmic pleasure and i can’t tell where any of it ends or begins. for a moment the siren backs off and the relief that fills my heart is huge, but the dancer knows not what he wants yet, who he is, what is purpose and what is pointless and so the feeling swerves and doubles over and then blooms anew and half of my face radiating an invisible icy net and i try to think of what is in my hands, it’s three ibuprofen, i can’t remember what time it was, the last two i took were this morning, werent there also two at about four am? whatever, this will have to be it for a while and if this doesn’t work there’s always whiskey, the pain is now under my eye, it has its hateful, angelic, petal-thin hands scooped underneath my cheekbone and is cupping my eyeball with a panicky grip and i can feel the whisper-bright devil breathing, my eye beats like a quivering drum with each reverberation, i stare ahead and weep. all language has ceased to mean anything reasonable there is nothing left to do but dance

Humid in Atlanta

June 11th, 2009 § 0

Hyatt Gold

“Nezua:

It was so humid in Atlanta.

I grew up in ________, born and raised, and so perhaps there is something about that weather that speaks to my skin. Just before the awards dinner, I was walking from the train to my hotel and the sky was tangled with clouds and there was so much drama in the sky, a drama that the fluid ______ Area winds always erase. It makes it easier here to breathe, to take thoughts that rise up and let them go. When I left my hotel again to walk the two blocks, the sky had burst open and the rain fell so hard it almost seemed to be splashing up from the ground. I shared an umbrella with an old colleague and we both got half-soaked, so the rest of the night in that banquet hall the skin of my back was chilled until we left again.

Atlanta in June has that sweat-drip, that hair-curl.

I guess I’m trying to figure out why I am thinking about what it would be like to kiss you. I guess I’m trying to blame it on the rain. I didn’t think clearly about it until I was on the elevator back up to my room: that I should have walked you out, that we should have spent the night talking more, touching each other perhaps, because why not?

Yet, this feels silly, immature, email flirtations are such mental masturbation. I fancy myself a writer so it’s easy to sit here at my desk and write off your clothes, write my teeth against your nipples, your cock grazing the top of my mouth, sliding into the tight of my throat.

It feels good to write about this because I am in the middle of trying to figure out how to articulate my position on monogamy. So, I hope you forgive me this diatribe … but as the object of my desire, somehow you seem the most likely candidate for being my sounding board. Highly inappropriate really.

The truth is I’m not sure what to think about monogamy. If I had kissed you, I would probably still be writing this email … still using the spark as a catalyst for this thought process. Even though we barely shared a hug or two, I still thought of you when making love to my partner the other day.

I am finding the line incredibly inconsistent in my mind. Liminality. Boundary crossing. It’s hard to give it up. …

And now, I – too – am getting married. So, my quest over the next few months is to figure out how to stand up in front of my friends and family and articulate myself: all the complexities of myself. Or perhaps that is not the point at all.

I’ve suddenly lost the thread. There’s cool air blowing again.

This was just a first attempt, but it’s past midnight now and I want to crawl into bed, try to get straight in my head all the tasks I have for tomorrow and maybe save that levitating space before the fall to imagine back into a sultry night I could have had….”

like mango on the edge of a knife [spoken]

May 31st, 2009 § 0

this is the spoken version of a poem i wrote on umx in september of 2007. the spoken version does not read all of the written, but that is because it felt complete at this point…the written one wanders elsewhere, but this felt like the right place to end it when i read it over a few times. ive been asked to read this one aloud, and it took me a couple years to do it, but here it is.

 
icon for podpress  Like Mango on the Edge of a Knife: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

From the Nectarine Meat collection of poems. Soon I’ll post a download link to this album in its entirety.

sky lyric [spoken]

May 26th, 2009 § 0

first written in november of 2008, this is the spoken version of sky lyric. there is a little glitch in the beginning, i’m aware of it. hope it doesn’t get in the way of appreciating what’s left.

 
icon for podpress  Sky Lyric [2:54m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

From fever of peace.

fever of peace [spoken]

May 25th, 2009 § 0

here’s the title piece for the album of spoken word tracks fever of peace. (original post here).

 
icon for podpress  Standard Podcast [2:28m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

that’s why we use an x [spoken]

May 25th, 2009 § 2

this is the spoken version of a poem i wrote on umx in march of 2008. tell ya the truth, i listen to them and sort of want to do them all over! but they were supposed to be practice for the upcoming podcasts, that i can’t let my usual sense of perfectionism drag them into neverland. (especially cuz i have heard weirrrrd things about neverland).

i realize that my father has writing where i’m pretty sure he uses this line in a poem…but x is my generation and this xicano will take it from here. . .

 
icon for podpress  Standard Podcast: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

From the Nectarine Meat collection of poems. Soon I’ll post a download link to this album in its entirety.

files edited

May 25th, 2009 § 0

if anyone downloaded that zipped album or any mp3s i had up, please redownload it. i have replaced those versions. i thought those had ID3 tags and such, but they didn’t these ones are properly filled out. if that matters to ya.

remember [spoken]

May 25th, 2009 § 0

 
icon for podpress  Standard Podcast [1:07m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

Remember…to breathe…

From fever of peace.

invierno [spoken]

May 24th, 2009 § 0

winter…can be so long. this last winter was especially long.

many of these poems from the new “album” fever of peace were written to spark light, fire, heat to see me through the winter. here is one…an awakening.

 
icon for podpress  Standard Podcast [1:03m]: Play Now | Play in Popup | Download

« Older Entries

Newer Entries »