The Ride

It’s a long push to Doomsday
And a short ride back
Left shoulder is empty and broken
Right carries a beaten knapsack

My front wheel is half deflated
My spokes are about to snap
The frame is still the same
And I’m past counting laps

A dirt strip between sidewalks
Keeps me from being clean
Red hands and white men
Tell us when it’s green

I’m too busy for you
Too humble for bills
Too stubborn for love
Too driven for pills

It’s an easy ride to the valley
On a downhill slope
But then you still have peaks to climb
With lower gears and rope

My ankle swelled and strengthened
My knee was torn and glued
Left is taking shots at right
While middle’s not in the mood

I’m too busy for love
Too humble for a mattress
Too stubborn for you
Too driven for madness

The Doorstopper

You close doors
that were open once before
I dig through floors
and pop back in

Let's make a mess
Forget about the rest
I'll only want less
and then we both win

You dump in some sand
I'm still reaching with my hands
I would see the other man
but I've got selective sight

I shove shoes in closing doors
that were open once before
Wedged cracks ask for more
I think I see the light

For Jay

Thinkin' of an old friend
one who used to meet me halfway
in cookie-cut suburban hoods
just to finish my sentences
Now he waits for my phone calls
follows delayed airline itineraries
stares at white collar clocks
and posts courier new compliments

Keep your eye off the second hand
minutes don't waste what is (h)ours
seconds won't keep you out of first
dynamic handshakes are not pendulums
Just pick up these cell rings
tell your sister she was right
stare down spring-snake ghosts
and forget that it's all nuts

Chinstrapped up and helmetless
stern lips hiding smiling chuckles
that can help our friend through this
this quiet spine of shivers
Conversations on sleepy nights
with friends closer than I knew
hours I thought would never end
watches dark with closing eyelids

Forget about Tom and chained legs
along with ticking thoughts
Remember combined thought creations
and gaining from what is lost
I'm looking forward to the next brick
as we slide down only one
Thinkin' of an old friend
and marking bricks just halfway

sdrawcabackwards

Books written backwards
Songs sung the same
Authors in ourselves
anonymous by name
Ideas flung forward
in pride and in shame
Shields ahead of spears
autonomous in game

Put your back behind your hands
Place mine on the hood
Today it pays to be the bad guy
We´re punishing the good

Gifts being rewrapped
Lights gone dark
Matches taking fire
extinguishing a spark
X is getting lonely
as Z becomes the mark
Y stands in between
vowels elsewhere parked

Forget what shines in light
See where midnight lurks
Today we flog our normalcy
and then massage our quirks

Umbrellas block the shade
Shelters allow the rain
We are wet by nature
Soap washes in our stains
Pillows make us restless
but they´re not the ones to blame
when we throw away our comforts
and open doors for pain

Mondo Taitu

The shard star mirror tells me I´m broken,
and we all know the stars don´t lie.
Am I who I ever was?
Or who I ever want to be?
I can only see a pirate in yellow flippers
exploring a life impossible to live,
stealing treasures from drowning dreams,
and casting his line back onto land.

The shores tell me that the seas always crash
before they retreat back into themselves.
Am I floating in something?
Or drifting from my feet?
I am hacking at waves from yellow boats,
translating Tom´s trilingual gargle,
spitting out words I´m not sure I believe,
and evading these minnows´ hooks.

And so the shard star mirror tells me I´m broken,
yet it rests on yellow walls.
Why do we listen to broken things?
And do they see the other side?
I am marking yellow walls with dirty feet,
watching star´s plaster melt,
focusing within single shards,
and finding myself complete again.

These Awkward Tuesdays

My head is clouded
I can not see straight
I wrote it all down
Better never or late?

These awkward Tuesdays
have us looking at our feet
We want to look up
but we can´t take the heat

I jumped off the rocks
all I could do was sink
The ripples still crash
splashes gone in a blink

These awkward Tuesdays
are so full of truth
What was once bottled up
is now a cork through the roof

I knew you once before
all hazy in a dream
but the haze disappeared
once my own slate was clean

I wrote it all down
and threw it drunk on your bed
I wrote it sober again
and it´s still in my head

These awkward Tuesdays
have my butterflies doing flips
but it´s all better off late
before Never Wednesday slips

There were days with captured glances
the days I loved the most
And others with frozen bones
as if we´d seen a ghost

Keep on cooking your breads
while I stoke the fire
Your hands are feeling tougher
My eyes are getting tired

They close and open
The wind swept you away
La troja came crashing down
on all that´s left to say

These awkward Tuesdays
still let Wednesday in
It feels like an ending
while I´m ready to begin

Lucid Realities and Dreams

Thoughts roll in with the clouds
as we lay in our beds
slapping ourselves back into reality
with no-see-ums through mosquito nets
And the creaking floor above
is dusting my dreams
directing me always north
creating louder screams
These picture-walls come crashing down
a void on which to stand
and I fall with what I constructed
upward reaches with my hands
Voices flood in as violent waves
breaking bottles in my ears
papers shredded with smashed glass
messages written are now smeared
Expectations come apart
piece by piece by piece
rocks abound and landslides trigger
things begin and others cease
Keep talking up there and bring me back
or I´ll see you down below
where I can only guess at you
and make you what I know
This place is so much darker
where the clouds have fallen too
they´re not wetting my palette
they are limiting my view
Besides, this room is out of order
and the time is always wrong
always scared to open my eyes
and afraid that you´ll be gone
I never asked for this acupuncture
muscles relaxed and paralyzed
forming your tangible image
so far as I have analyzed
By peeking through the boards
and absorbing this structure´s shake
by enjoying clouds´obscurity
and accepting what´s at stake
What is to come in another realm
built on top of the past
First impressions can be photographs
but only if they last

The King or the Fool

How does beauty fall from trees
red and yellow floating leaves
How do rivers shape perfect stones
thrashing and tumbling to resting thrones
And where to look for perfect sweets
but honeycombs of the working bees
And where to escape sun's burning rays
but under trees in cool palm shade
Not all that is good
can come from one thing
but if you can find it
you could be king
Regret is in waiting
where recognitions are few
Opportunities passed
by the man who's a fool

That Old Crab

Cangreja that old crab
she showed her face today
it's been clouded in gray
ever since I left
but now she's cowering back into fog
tucked behind murky covers
consuming every feature
like erasers on chalkboards
yet we remember how she stands
and there will be more lessons later
as white dust clears

Maria that old crab
she showed her face today
and clouded me in gray
now that I am back
she trips over her own shoes
left on unlike all others
covering those tired feet
mud caked over lost direction
yet we know she'll always return
with more lessons to come
in fossilized footprints