Chicano Poet

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Boca

He held her
by the ankles

asteroid gliding
by the planet

which dangled
puffy and delicious

in a million light years
of tin flaps

her sweet ankles
floating past his face

his mustache
and beard

knowing her better
than he knew himself

and the broken glass
of his desires

flew like a thick moth
into her love mouth.

Monday, April 29, 2013

Carpet

He was a magic man,
and she was too young

to understand.
His purple eyes

drove her wild.
His angry hands

were sweet.
And as his shoulder

dug into her back,
it spoke

the words
she longed to hear.

She dripped honey
all the way home.

His purple eyes
haunting her heart.

She memorized every single thread
of his magic carpet.

Friday, April 26, 2013

Lumbrecita

He kisses the tattoo
above her ankle

and works
his way up

to the blemish
midway up 

her right thigh
she says

no no no
in Spanish

but the fire
in her loins

says si si si
as he kisses

the hair
out of the way

continues up 
to her stomach

to her breasts
and up

to her neck
before he enters

fiery 
paradise

Thursday, April 25, 2013

Two Roads Diverged

Split like her sex organ
the sun and moon

must remain apart
the sweet taste of lips

a foreign sugar
backed by licorice

adjacent
the origin of life

and universe
split

separated by
salty sea

I sail and sink
and grasp the shore

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

The Adventures Of Batman And Robin (wink:)

Don't pick up Batman,
he'll give you rabies.

Robin
red-breast.

Catwoman purring
in the backseat of the Batmobile.

Robin's
not to blame.

Suspect
Bruce Wayne.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Ball-Shaped

God was a little ball
to all.

The horizon slapped
into the day.

A gray spot
of feet.

Stars
of no size.

Long enough,
long enough,

the cream-colored grass
in a ball.

Oh, love that love
can not claim.

Monday, April 15, 2013

You'd Think

You'd think
God was Mexican

the shape
the world is in

no wonder
he demands

so many sacrifices
no wonder

we have to rely
on this virgen

and that virgen
¡Si Señor! the chupacabra

has us
by the ass

but we
put on our fiestas

everything
will be fine mañana.


Thursday, April 11, 2013

I Bathe In The Dirty Arroyo

I bathe
in the dirty arroyo

they call
the San Antonio River

relish in its trash
I call soap

drink its stagnant waters
I call wine

despise the inundations
which threaten to clean its soul

long for it
to turn

into a muddy brown again
like my raza

I bathe
in the dirty arroyo

they call the San Antonio River
because it makes me strong.


Wednesday, April 10, 2013

The Tree Of Pleasure

When she took
the first bite of the fruit

she did not know
it was a sin.

He knew the truth.
Spoke not a word.

He knew what dwelled
upon the tree.

The whiteness
of the ruddy fruit.

He knew the seed
bore wonder.

And then she ate
from the hanging limb.

Tuesday, April 09, 2013

My Gente

My gente
like a burlap sack

full of flour
pours out of Mexico

dark flour
mixed with Rio Bravo mud

what could be braver
what could be graver

my gente
I do not call you

my gente anymore
stacked tall

in the vicious barrio
broken beer bottle

full throttle
the blood spilled

will be re-filled
by my gente

Monday, April 08, 2013

The Cheer

Their offensive love
cheered

by fruit on the vine.
Water dug.

Arrows recalled.
Stone against stone

whose chips
bounced off

their love-making.
To them

it was only that
as she rose

from the angry bed
and he rolled

on his deadly side unshaved.
Love cures everything

except
love.

Friday, April 05, 2013

Chale's Angel

Her wings
fell off in the wash.

Her god
rolled up in the desert.

High-heeled shoes
choking.

Curtain rods
come alive.

Other angels
shedding sin.

Dusty pebbles
board the bus.

Dying stars
drag themselves downtown

where only
Mexicans live.

Thursday, April 04, 2013

The Sky Man

At six
she fell under his spell.

By eight
it was too late.

He had
invented the sky.

Filled it
with tables

which she
gladly climbed.

Her knees
bled easily then.

Her pretty cheeks
safe as glue.

Her apartment building
held at the end

of a funnel,
amplified

her saucy
and sandy voice.

Her lips
protruded at the stalk.

The nearby lake
split corners

like the carnival
she said

when she had
turned eighteen.

And as he pressed
against her,

her juices
bitter and sweet

rose from the sea
to drown.