WINDY NIGHT

If everything
Was like
Kissing adversity
The search
And need
Of knowing
The better things
Of life
Like fighting
With time
And experiments
That lead
To celebrity
Then meaning comes
As the car’s tires
Enter a highway
Made of air.

DISCONNECTED

I have been
Trying to connect
Into the sky
And I am not able
To fly with signals
To touch unknown faces
I am limited
To kiss estrangers lips
To be a kind
And invisible person
I can’t do it
Because of the weather
And because of illness
And tsunamis
Death just before
The New Year
And prayer is
The most important
Commodity I posses
I have been trying
To connect with you.

BRAKE

The sun
Hits my work hat
And I smoke
A paramedic
Reads a newspaper
On a slow
Riding ambulance

THE STORE

Life
Is like
A marketplace
Shoppers think
Everything
Is for sale.


SORCERY

A brand new year
Of threats
Of infinite frivolity
Ah the virtues
Of mass media
How enchanting
They are
Just like
Strong magic

I suppose the following is kind of a strange Christmas gift.



Way to go, your alter poet is Jack Kerouac, who is
by FAR the coolest!


Who is Your Alter Poet?
brought to you by Quizilla

THE PARAMEDIC

He scrubs
The blood
Off the highway
Under the
Bright light
Fed by his
Portable generator
The fire engine
Is decorated
Like a Christmas sled

TREND

Hating the poor
Is a symptom
For murder

DEHIDRATION

Is like listening
To Purple Haze
And David Bowie’s Fame
At the same time.

THE FLU

I have been ill
The past 2 days
And I value
The visions
That come with
High fevers.

ONE FLESH

Sex is
An afterthought
In marriage
Good family
And good medicine
Are the trophies
Of the bedroom

CARCACHA

Los minutos pasan
Como el tronar
De una suspensión adolorida

THE JOURNEY CONTINUES…


9

I waited in the car
Only to be blinded
By headlights of a truck
It parked about the 10 meters away
And a human being
Descended from inside the machine
The person walked
Towards the threshold of the mini market
And the florescent lights revealed
A prison guard’s uniform
Being worn by a woman
She was large an strong like a lioness in Africa
But that night belonged to the Arizona desert
And her hunting was done
Inside federal prisons
Entrenched in the isolation of the sands
And I tried real hard
Not the be a cynic
I fought the urge to mock with my thoughts
The apparition before me
And even though we were about equal in size
I knew she could take me out
In hand to hand combat
The way she walked told me that much
I remembered my neighbor
Fighting with his wife
And how he mellowed out as soon
As two policewomen arrived at his house
They were twice his size
And when he looked at them
He became very still and composed.

10

The future bearer of my offspring returned
When she opened the door
The desert air entered the car
I waited for her to say something
But she was silent and comfortable
In that peculiar style of hers
When I was about to ask
She said everything was funny
They way the clerk smiled
Showing his bleached teeth
As he gave directions
And it seemed as if he had been there
In that ascetical and legendary refuge
We followed the green arrows
And stopped at red lights
Even though the road seemed empty
We drove away from town
And its concentration camps
I followed the instructions
Given by the night clerk
Thinking to my self
If he sent us in the right path
The night was like snow
And we were an accelerating sled
I felt the strength of 8 cylinders
Running towards the darkness
To the back of us the electric glow
Got smaller with each mile traveled
Until we could only see the glow of the moon
Paisano is the name of the road
We were looking for
Paisano that Spanish word
That signifies fellow citizen
We were searching
For the paisanos of earth.

MY SISTERS MY BROTHERS AND THE FUTURE THAT NEVER WAS


In Iraq
The troops inside Humvees
Are big game
Texas soldiers
Know all about hunting
The AK bullet
Pierces a Hummer
As it does a watermelon
The 7.62X32
Will drop an elk
And the GI’s .223
Is used for coyote hunting
The difference is clear
Like the rich & the poor
Like & ivy college
And a community college
Like a CEO & a janitor
The future of America
Is splattered on the seats
The dashboards
Like modern art
The blood drips
On the desert’s sand
Becoming alchemy
For oil and profit

MORE POETRY COMING OUT OF THE SMOKE


7

Florence
42 miles

Was written on the road sign
And I said we’re almost there
And she did not reply
I lit another cigarette
Not before having to decide
If I wanted to inhale
The smokes I had bought south of the border
Or if I should use American made poison
I put the fire on the tip of camel
When I opened the ashtray
It resembled a mausoleum
As I drove I tried not the desecrate
With my carelessness
The ashes of the tobacco I was smoking
We’re in Florence said my wife
With her voice softened
By the desert's full moon
When I realized we were cruising
On the main street of a very small town
Petite like human tenderness
In a planet shaped like a basketball
And we found ourselves
At the end of town as soon as we entered it
I stopped the car and we just sat there
Thinking what we should do that night
In the rearview mirror
I could see glowing
Emanating from scattered street lights
On the windshield
Just the darkness of the road.

8

We made a U turn and head back into town
Looking for someone to ask directions
All of the sudden I tasted that feeling
Of not knowing were we’re going
And it doesn’t taste sweet
Like the ripe fruit of success
It has the bland flavor of frugality
The only place open was a gas station
One of those temples
That sell the elixir of progress
Today's Black Magic
Oil cooked into gasoline and plastic
We stopped just outside the entrance
And I could see their icons on the window
Visa & MasterCard
Together with the usual suspects
Inside there was the dim figure
Of the night attendant
A slim man who
Looked thankful to have a wage
He was watching television when we arrived
We decided my wife
Would ask for directions
Better a white female
Than a foreign male
In the middle of the night.

ON THE MARINA

I want to get
On one of those boats
And sail to you heart.

BY THE BAY

The morning is
In the mirror of water
Old white men
Ride bicycles.

THE POETIC PILGRIMAGE CONTINUES

“God, strike me so I can ring like a bell"
Jack Kerouac.

5

80 miles per hour is not the speed limit
But we drove fast trying to leave behind
Horrendous billboards
With their message of prosperity and ambition
It is hard not to be hypnotized by images that
Hang from overpasses
We drove away as fast as we could to survive
I kept thinking of the woman
Sweeping the diner’s carpet
With a broom instead of a vacuum cleaner
She was turned into witch against her will
How she moved with despondency
Across the floor
I understood hell is here
Among us in disguise
It can be found in the yellow pages
Under the word employment
I though of her master
As a modern roman emperor
Sucking the soul from her body
We wanted to save her
But we could barely save ourselves.

6

We stopped on the highway to find a cactus
That would heal us
I took my knife and cut a piece from the plant
So we could have it and be cured
From the poison we had just tasted
With they eyes of our souls
And the road defiant and covered with oil leaks
Purchased with human blood
Challenged us to maximum speed
I could smell the devil in this type of dare
With the stench of burnt fuel
The car’s windshield had become
A sepulcher of splattered insects
I wondered if their souls
Where on Hades or Paradise
Despite the darkness
I could see mountains in the horizon
I thought once we reach them
We would discover a black hole.

SANTA CLAUS IS AN IMPOSTOR

The real persona belongs to a saint
Not a salesman
His name is Nicholas
And there’s a story
That goes like this
When a poverty stricken father
Was about to sell
His daughters’ bodies
Saint Nicholas threw some gold
Through their window
Saving that family from
Spiritual bankruptcy
That’s better than a gift bought
At a chain store
Saint Nicholas more formidable
Than the saint of Coca-Cola.

THE DEAD

When someone dies
The person is only sleeping
A deep sleep of the body
Such intense sleep that the limbs
Become the earth
And the spirit remains the same
If that person prayed for you in life
The prayers will continue in death
If that person cursed you
That too goes on
On the other side.

MORE POETIC EXCERPTS LEAKING FROM THE ROOF…


1

We waited on the tarmac
Inside one of many aircrafts
And the storm raged outside
The winds were like indignant angels
Trying to keep
The airplanes off their domain
I looked at my wife
And she was serene smiling at life
And I wished I could have that calmness
I thought to myself:
Life is the futility of death
And she looked at me happy
And told me she loved me
The passengers on that flight
Were friendly strangers
More like a family where there is a mysterious
Closeness blended with rivalry
They are just there trying to be the best strangers they can be
I forgot about the limitations
Of the human being for an instant
And looked at the stormy skies
Believing this might be the end of so much
And the beginning of the unknown
Even the stories of Hollywood
Failed to break my ponderings
And I remembered death
Is as real as falling asleep.

2

The airplane glided on the heavens
And I saw the forest of human greed below
Trees disappeared like an act of selfish magic
When the green ended and the desert begun
I knew we were above California
With her many nightmares
I didn’t want to wake anyone because of their addiction to bad dreams
Like drug addicts that can’t cope without a narcotic existence
And we continued flying on the clouds
With the destination to a city
That is named after the brother of God
First we passed the metropolis
That has no angels
Except for the ones that were trying to hurl this plane to the ground
But being on the air is an act of confidence
On things we believe but can not see
Then we landed with our hearts
Still pumping blood
Inside our ever—aging bodies.