Thursday, July 1, 2010

excerpts from the latest submission

from “hip: a sickle moon injunction

that’s all night time watching is
something you just picked up
at 25th St. just past Juri Commons
what between the giggling
and flat out singing
heard them carrying our songs away
not smiling
but still singing
loud and bellicose

so we can close the window now
the smoke is all up in here

we saw you
blowing smoke rings
shaped like sickle moons
the size of new mission entitlement

a lease note like an old man all verbose
and heavy
and never quiet
when he’s asked to be
and if already talking he'll shut up now
(like he never even said nothing)

no the silence never really came
(and still ain’t coming)
just like it found a spot to post up
on a swing set
where our kids should swing

don’t think we didn’t see that too
we saw you coming

24th and mission
(excerpt from “cuando ganamos”)
drip from traffic lights
grown weary
in the haze of grey saturdays
and pulsing cars
line up
to start the plucking
at the intersection

those on foot survey
so many rows of luggage racks
lining sidewalks
for a population bent
on traveling home

always departing
as they arrive
in ten dollar duffel bags
with pockets lined
with telegiros
and lotto tickets
at the chances
for return

a una isla encantada
a una montaña en centroamerica
a un rancho lindo y lejos
de este pueblo congelado

on mission street at noon
(from “mission redux”)

between the traffic cones
and overdue construction
beyond the solace of a bus bench
girl goes pushing
pushing into sweaty days
jalando tres generaciones
wearing faded chivas jersey
the markers
more the milestones
have moved so far from making sense
because she cannot speak the language
she just
looks with rage

imbedded within the inability to look
to sing the song and psalms of looking
at ourselves
in equal measure
we see buddha
and ritchie valens

call them scars
as we been tongue lashed
through the ages
the first word become an epilogue
forbidden from the dialogue
we marinate on tax breaks
watching weary arms
tow children toward september
when school begins
and language becomes pretense
disaggregate delusion
a satchel we keep tugging
through television windows
like linguistic thieves at night
ready to pocket the silver
and render english
unto Caesar

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