OFF

Turn off
The bombastic music
And listen to
The birds sing
Turn off
The electric grid
So they can continue
Chanting
On the high voltage wires

THE TOLL ROAD

I contemplated
Dead people
On the highway
The rays of
The sun set illuminated
The car wreck
And the blue ocean
Is majestically solemn

Art too is just a way of living, and however one lives, one can, without knowing, prepare for it; in everything real one is closer to it, more its neighbor, than in the unreal half-artistic professions, which, while they pretend to be close to art, in practice deny and attack the existence of all art - as, for example, all of journalism does and almost all criticism and three quarters of what is called (and wants to be called) literature. I am glad, in a word, that you have overcome the danger of landing in one of those professions, and are solitary and courageous, somewhere in a rugged reality. May the coming year support and strengthen you in that.

Always
Yours,
R. M. Rilke

BOOK SIGNING

My brother met
Norman Mailer
He was overwhelmed
By the living legend
As he signed his book
All that my sibling
Could utter was
Norman Fucking Mailer!
The writer grinned.

SUBMISSION

Once I got published
On a zine called
Letras Libres
I submitted a poem
And it got accepted
All I can remember about it
Is that it made reference
To life being a smile
With rotten teeth
I wrote it
On rainy night
Looking outside the window
Of a brewery
I wish I could have a copy
So I can begin to decipher
The reason they liked it

THE AUDITION

As we walked the streets of Portland
The night coated with rain
To the meeting place
That hang out where underage punk rockers
Would congregate and do the mosh pit
Supervised by a attractive guitar player
She was looking for a singer
And my friend was up to the task
So I went along for moral support
I knew the city and my mate
Was from out of town
I’ll show him the ropes
I thought to myself
We got there and she was waiting for us
The most beautiful punk woman
I have ever seen
We introduced ourselves
And she liked us both
We talked with her on the wet sidewalk
Once in a while she would
Look inside to make sure
The kids were not breaking any bones
As they danced in a most peculiar way
I went home to my wife
Ritchie stayed and sang with her

INTERPRETER

My days as a court interpreter
Were brittle
I saw many lives broken
Like shattered glass
Their freedom was hijacked
Because they were poor
And the rich walk away
Into the arms of
A sympathetic planet
Society applauds their
Daring escapes
Their lawyers attack
Like expensive pedigrees
Death as punishment
Awaits the underprivileged
Those who were born
Under the wrong ancestry
It made me nauseous
To interpret the
Fate of these miserable
Human beings
To tell them they were
Going to live
In a house made of shadows
With a language that should
Be use for love
And the restoration of smiles

TOP SECRET

Agent Guzman
Asked for my citizenship
He’s a big man
With a small heart
My passport
Was in his hands
I think he was not
Reading the document
Just pretending to look at it
I decided to answer
His question
US citizen
I said to him
In the midst of smog
And hundreds of cars
Waiting in line
Behind us
What are those machines for?
I asked pointing to
The x—ray devices
I had just driven through
It’s top secret
If I told you
It would not be
A secret anymore
He said
Do they cause cancer?
I asked him
I don’t know but
That’s why I don’t
Cross to Mexico
Because you might get cancer
On your way back?
I asked again
It’s top secret
He said.

AIR

Dance beautiful nostril
I’ll be happy in you
With the games
Of blameless children