DAVID COLE

An electronic apology
Came forth from the cosmonaut’s net

A 12 volt
Nervous smile
Linguistic thievery

Your kindergarten experiments
Are criminal borders

And you can either
Be a victim
Of your own schemes
Or a medium rare stake
Inside a used bag
Salty fluids dripping
On the bathtub

A dead horse on the beach
With the name
Of my friend written on it

Or a champion
With the brightest
Spiritual undertaking

EL LLANTO DEL GABACHO


El migra llora
Con sus claros
Y húmedos
Ojos anglosajones
Silencioso cachorro
Le sonrío
Para hacerlo
Sentir mejor
Pero me da la espalda
Y se aleja acongojado

RAIN ON THE SEA


And to think
It’s only a
Black box

Contained
By the ocean

The salt
Turns the water
Into one
Big battery

Little chips
From the sun

HORSES


I hear horses outside
They stand
Like politicians
Wild horses
That escaped
3 horses that
Want to help
Great horses
Watch horses
Horses with
A Colgate smile

CLOUDS


I dream in an airplane
And I found my pistols
Stored under my seat
And this makes me
A little nervous

I study the other passengers
All of them have
Guns under their seats

Suddenly a middle class
Anglo-Saxon American
Tells me he wants
To trade his place
For my seat
He says he wants to sleep

I say
No

He explains that
I will be better
In his position

I say
No

He insists adamantly
With the tenacity of a use car salesman
And I find myself at the point
Of utter anger
Since he’s such a bother
I grab my pistols
And tuck them in my boots

I am escorted by beautiful
But exhausted women
(I don’t find the desire
To impregnate them
With my offspring)
Towards a door
That looks like a mattress

They open the door for me
And say: welcome
I enter to what some
Claim is first class
With its casinos
And movie theaters
Pretty girls and
Clean bathrooms
Neon lights
Near the ocean

I look for a parachute
And there is none
If this is called flying
Then I want to
Kiss the earth

SHE’S ALSO AN ARCHITECT


The beautiful coupleTold they’re architects
They say
They want to
Know poetry

I tell them architecture
Is poetry

She’s pretty & petite
Wearing all star converse shoes

Her eyes are suffering
From sporadic earthquakes
A symptom I have detected
In beauty queens

I think she’s ready to
Hold my hands
And walk with me

But he’s not ready
He keeps looking at me
A bit hesitant & unsure

He raises his right hand
In a new dance kind of way
I know he
Will not understand

I’ll wait
A little bit longer

CÉLULA MADRE


Tu cumpleaños es una célula madre
Evidencia plasmada en un rincón
De la realidad
Tu coraje por la vida
Ha sido mi antibiótico
Mi intrépido anticuerpo

Desde mi infancia
Me has cuidado con tu tacto de enfermera
Has suturado mis heridas de adulto
Con mis ideas de niño

He sometido las sonrisas del dolor
Con tu cariño
Que ha tatuado
Un holograma permanente
En el ojo de mi corazón

Esto es una
Imagen en mi conciencia
Brújula de mi alma
Barómetro de mi cuerpo
Faro de mis rebeliones
Encandilamiento de mis motines
Red para mis sirenas

Madre
Tu natalicio es un mapa
De mi existencia
Una justificación para
Para mis respiraciones
Testimonio de mis pasos
En avances invisibles
He inexplicables

Madre
Este aniversario es otra
Dadiva de Dios
Gesto de significado
En la adversidad
Una evocación más
A tus días longevos