Niña con el rostro de oro falso

y ojos del mundo oscuro.

Había sueños que eran claros 

pero un poco raros.

No sé si la luz brillaba negra o blanca 

en el espacio de tu sombra.

Niño con el cabello de luz,

nadando por el mar azul.

Dueño del pasado y amor negado 

abierto como regalo.

Las olas te llevaron a un futuro más genuino 

que aquella quien mirabas como tu destino.

 

Niños una vez enamorados

entre páginas de pirámides.

Creció la distancia como carnero y ballena

porque un silencio condena.

I always swore  

I’d never etch love onto pages

but I’ve become obsessed with

Florida license plates,  hoping

to catch a glimpse of  your face  –  

driving among metal ants. 

I always swore  

I’d keep your name  

curled as a secret on my tongue,

but lately it seeks release

from my lips –  

like a kiss that never breathed 

I – a cure

you thought you sought but

now the space between 

the past and future –

remains a hidden trap of leaves 

and I –

the only victim claimed

your voice – a lost whisper 

my eyes – a shield of memory

your mind was mine

so was your soul

but I morphed into a pangolin 

destined to be chosen

then left broken

still pierced beneath hard scales.

Don’t forget to call 811

before you bury your divorce.

It takes five minutes –

unlike the four hours

you stood

to kiss her in front of Elvis.

I still remember that day:

We fluttered to a city

known for quick things,

our compliance short strings.

Panhandlers heckled us for currency –

they accepted sweat or time.

It was all the same to us.

The boulevard of mud

lined with vomit and crud,

should’ve been reason enough

for us to depart.

Midday weddings are overrated –

why parade like a Parotia

in proper places?

A church and a saloon

with thirty plastic rose bouquets

are the same

when pink light hits the frame.

We thought truth was buried in the dark

and garish lights – our sun and altar

There I swayed like a half-starved sailor

calling you my love and savior.

I swear we were the golden ones

in that line of lovestruck chumps.

I wallow in domesticity

and bake cakes

to feed simplicity.

I let them burn – they taste better

Egg shells mixed with walnuts

The frosting curdled,

granular and lackluster.

The oven becomes a temporary sanctuary

Scorched fingers – disturb dormancy.

Don’t mind the blackened crumbs –

just ash

to fill the urn.

Should I decorate with berries or with stones?

Sweet glass

only spits blood

from untold cuts.

My knife will slice a piece

I’ll never eat

and there it will rest – food of flies.

This piece you were not meant to swallow

will mold and rot

like my cadaver.

Be king for the day.

They’ll bow their heads

and pray.

This too ends.

The streets lined with kingmakers,

sorrowed-filled partakers.

The carriage that hauls you

falls like a failed coup.

Blind and deaf you seem,

but know love’s pity hold

shuts off a spite controlled.

Your scream is cut by a seam.

At a distance, a cardinal sings

its red feathers covered with the soot

of this cigarette night,

Kentucky back roads 

I’d wished to be my home.

On the gravel next to

trees filled with the smoke of ghosts

My car stands silent and my feet wobble.

My stomach burns;

My plucked throat.

Soon tears blind

this flightless scapegoat.

The tobacco-winds target me

and I taste tar,

sticky blackness of a borrowed tongue.

I’ve suffocated,

ignited and baited,

like coal left

damp and cold after campfires.

Y’all don’t know

I was a goat destined to be a bird.

Y’all won’t know

I’ll be a cardinal even while exiled.