On the bus:
Laughter—
Disturbed songs
while reading
chick lit.
On the bus: Laughter
2017 February 17
Posted in Poetry
MENTE PER IL CIBO (COME, COME, COME)
2017 February 6
I hate food.
I hate its muddy aftertaste
that prods @ my attention hours afterward,
& I hate my bitchy belly folding into itself for it.
Food is needy & ne’er satisfied:
it demands to be heated @ a precise length o’ time
—not too short, not too long—
but cools much too quickly.
Fuck food.
Posted in Poetry
ENKONTRÓ UN JUERGUISTA DIBAGANDO MOLESTO
2017 February 1
Un día kamino por la kalle.
Fue una mentira–
Nunka kamino por la kaye.
¿Ké tipo de persona loka
kamina en el sentro de la kalle?
En realidad, kamino por la asera,
pero prefiero desir ke kamino por la kalle,
porke me siento más jugoso,
y me gusta jugoso.
Bueno, mientras estoy kaminando por la asera,
bi un koche–
en aktual, bi muchos.
Pero, dudo ke se importe.
Nunka se importa lo ke dicho…
¿Por ké ablas así?
Dawn, rare snow
2017 January 30
Dawn, rare snow—
shivering, I see
squirrels outside.
Posted in Haiku, Senryu y amigos, Poetry
¿LAS PUTO HOJAS SON DÉBILES? ERES DÉBIL.
2017 January 23
Elm, Elm, Elm,
leaves are gone
¿so soon?
Hardly seen them.
Withered, crumpled, blackened…
¿But why these words?
¿Would we e’er call them towering, plain, eye-seeringly sickly green
in the o’erbearing summer?
Slowly…
I scoop them in my icy-dried granite hands—
But race, the thoughts—
I must, I can’t…
There’s nowhere to preserve them
from their abusive but necessary relation with the sun & clouds.
Posted in Poetry
Winter firs
2016 December 28
Posted in Haiku, Senryu y amigos, Poetry
AUF DAS EINDRINGLICHE GERÄUSCH DER MONSTRÖSEN UHR (PORQUE LOS CRANGREJOS DE DA-TRANG SIN FIN SACAR ARENA)
2016 December 25
The stories presented in this section explain, among other things, how the earth was formed and people were made; why the sun is so bright; how the tiger got his stripes; how the mosquito came to be; and why the Da-Trang crabs endlessly scoop up sand.
Faurot, J. Asian-Pacific Folktales and Legends, (p. 12).
I tried to scoop the crusty, blackened leaf into my ice-dry granite hands,
only to see pieces fly off
to be devoured by the wind.
I’m shivering,
but too frozen to tighten my jacket.
I’m tired,
but too tired to move my body to lay down,
too fearful…
I’m full o’ energy,
but can’t budge to use it.
It’s night early,
but I can’t see anything in it anymo’.
We’re not seeing each other anymo’.
I ne’er ’splained why…
I don’t think I understand myself.
It’s moved on since then.
It’ll survive for many millenia mo’.
Huh…
It snuck up on me in the middle o’ the night:
Face it.
It's going to happen,
& it's going to happen soon,
& you can't stop it.
Accept it.
You haven't changed a god damn thing.
You thought it'd be gone.
But it comes 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain 'gain.
What the (lumpen)proletariat (Da-Trang crabs) produces, above all, are their own graves.
Posted in Poetry
You Fucked It Up
2016 December 24
You fucked it up.
I warned you not to do it.
But you did.
You were s'posed to be Mr. Jekyll, ¿remember?
¿Where did you hide?
You were s'posed to say hi every morn,
but look @ how low the quotas are;
you were s'posed to keep calm
e'en under the glare o' a ticking bomb.
But you were all wrong--
& I can see that you'll always be wrong
till the setting o' all dawns.
Your body rejects all the improvements like foreign blood.
¿So now what?
Mo' 'scuses, that's what.
Not a lot o' market for 'scuses, Jude.
Perhaps it's time to discontinue.
Yes, you fucked it up,
& once you've fucked it up,
you'll ne'er fix it down.
Now dinner's o'er,
& it's time to take your deserts--
'cause you deserve it.
Die Anti-Haiku
2016 December 16
Buddha could not be more wrong:
Though we plug ourselves tight together,
We are not compatible.
Posted in Poetry
vanilla tea
2016 December 7
Winter tea—
taste buds insist
there’s vanilla.
Posted in Haiku, Senryu y amigos, Poetry
