Sky Girl # 5

The perfect body of a girl
falls through the sky.

Her perfection
beyond reproach.

Stormy blue eyes
tear lightning apart.

Her hair
wet from slinging vowels.

Her smile
broken in half.

Her thighs
plant their mark.

The world’s
about to start.

La Chureca

While at La Chureca birds are shooed away by children
a comet heads straight for Managua, Nicaragua

Cardenal’s name carved on its burning ice
just punishment says Tachito from the grave

for everything there is a season
a time to observe comets

and a time to receive comets
the old poet blinks

and then is blinded by the light
the children’s meal is interrupted at the dump

is there no justice in this world?
no, there is not, the non-poets shout

the lake has disappeared
the trees lie burnt like matchsticks

and a tiny pebble is all that’s left
of the Mayan comet.

Courteney Cox

I was reciting one of my poems
when Courtney Cox jumped up on the stage

and started swaying her sexy slender body
to my lyrics making them come alive

my humble poem caught fire
spewed lightning

attracted the attention of the po po
and then the fire chief warned that my poem

had exceeded the posted capacity
he said Courteney had to go

to which I reluctantly agreed
since I was not the boss.

Of Love And Spiders

To show you how much I love you
I pull baby spiders from your hair

and you know how much I hate spiders
their beastly eyes look too deep into my soul

my jeans are shaking
and my genes are shaking

I try not to break off their legs
what good would they be

what good are they now
my brain is asking questions

my mind can never answer
when there’s not a single baby spider left

in your beautiful red hair
I realize love can make us all over-achieve.

Dear John

John, I tried so hard to imagine the world
you saw in your mind’s eye

but we still kill with our religions
hunger and greed still rule

peace seems to be something
too out of this world

our possessions are way too important to let go
our warring countries come first

I tried so hard to imagine
what you imagined

so far I’ve had no luck
I guess there’s always mañana.

The Apocolypse

The world was going along just fine
Mexicans were killing themselves like always

aficionados were going crazy over senseless sports
good religious people were at each others’ throats

the ice caps were melting for liberals
the ice caps were not melting for conservatives

God was either dead or alive
depending on what distorted point of you held

and everybody knew everybody’s business on Facebook
the world was apparently spinning on its axis

one day NASA failed to spot a giant asteroid
which wiped out most of humankind

only the Mexican race survived the devastation
Acosta’s people had somehow triumphed once again

soon they were killing each other otra vez
the world was going along just fine.

Welcome To The Jungle

That night you wanted me desperately
and I had to tell you no I can’t

this with a stone spear pointed at our bellies
the natives restless and blood-thirsty

lions roaming and counting their pennies
out there in the bush

the coppery sound can turn your stomach
zebras hide under the bed

hyenas laugh into their hands
they alone know how it’s going down

you pull your panties back on and say
it’s a jungle out there.

Tale Of A Japanese Sailor

All I heard down in the engine room
was Tora! Tora! Tora!

This artificial light
had to come from somewhere good, I thought.

Back home perhaps Nara deer
looked for a confirmation from the surf.

A child played on the shore,
my little sister too young to seek each wave aloud.

When the planes returned,
it was all cheer.

The harbor was glorious,
they said.

The engine room did not change
as we criss-crossed brackish seas.

Until they sank us
we steamed along quite gallantly.

Does this journey down below
demand that salt water spew everywhere at once?

My eyes bulge and explode
against a bulkhead after I am dead.

The Pearl

Planes dropped their bombs
and sprayed their bullets.

Planes which did not know
right from wrong.

The men inside of them
had minds of their own.

They’d come from far away,
fleeing the rising sun.

Their mission was sweet
and desirable to the Generals.

Their minions
were mostly minions.

The war went on
in sea and land and air.

Many lived
and many died.

But everything
remained the same.

The Poet Is A Dinosaur

He put pet dinosaurs in his poems
and baseball mitts.

He was so far out in left field,
he played football.

The dinosaurs were well-suited
for snowglobe weather.

They ate the grass
from underneath the quarterback.

The princess/cheerleader was their favorite
as she bathed and shaved.

The poet himself was covered
in Martian soil.

Leather had once been sub-human
which brought a tear to his eye.

A stadium devoid of human suffering
was ideal but ill-advised.

He was a poet after all
and words failed him every time.

The Figure Skater

The figure skater’s crotch
was there for all to see.

Outside the yellow cabs
displayed their undersides as well.

If God was looking down,
he played the clown.

A homeless man crossed the street
to get home.

The wind was blowing out of the north,
no one knew why.

A space craft hurtled in outer space
as if it was a race.

The figure skater fell flat on her ass,
but what an ass.

The subway waited patiently
for crowds to gather.

One more day had ended in the city
that never sleeps and therefore never wakes.

The Thinking Gypsy

for luis omar salinas

Like Omar said in one of his poems
have faith in all things

have faith even in the bad things
of life

get down and dirty he said
don’t go through life all spic and span

get out of those white clothes
take off those white shoes

discard those white socks
and underwear

have faith in all things
good and bad.

The Space Girl’s Hat

The space girl wore her pointed hat
and warned the absent hero of regret.

On planet Mongo
meten chango.

The rocket ship pours smoke
and noiseless noise.

The crash is never fatal,
the villains hide behind the rocks.

Their ray guns dose ornate.
I’m glad I already ate.

The space girl does her job,
shows off her thighs.

She says that alien clothes
belong back in 1936.

The alien robots wear a bucket
on their heads.

A sword fight here in outer space
must be won at the expense of grace.

The space girl we must indeed admire
not just for coiffure attire

which stays intact
after she repels attacks.

But even in the weightlessness of space
she mimics gravity with such distaste.

Wingless Angel

Her perfect body like an Indian untouchable
wanders through the hollow streets.

The monsoon drags its faucet
in a wondrous bucket.

A tuk tuk fibs
against purple silk.

Her skin is dark and homeless
but guiltless as a storm.

Her smile fetches flying wheels
in temples of sex.

And in the morning
I seek her in the dirty Ganges.

On the wrong side of the river
stands Gandhi’s evil twin.

Only the wings are missing
from my angel now.