26 November, 2010

Inka the Brave

Inka the brave looks like
a scary octopus mixed with a
green crocodile combined with a
menacing lion.

He is a great bear-cub warrior,
living vicariously through
anticipation, hope and

Once he escapes his homeland,
he will never be able to return.
This quest will take him through
Adventure, Memory, Loss.

Mostly though, Inka will be happy.
This brave octo-croc lion cub
is among the fiercest bears ever seen.
He hiccups with strength.

He clothes himself in secrecy,
ready to pounce with love and newness.
No sooner will he leave his home
than will the world fall at his feet.


El Mercado de Oaxaca
reminds me of my Christmas wife.
Breakfast there was champion-
Rich, Aztec-chocolate, circled bread.

Caminamos por horas,
no sabiendo en donde comer.
El sabor del mole nos hizo
entender la historia del pueblo.

Fake italian cafes pained us and
made us wiser, through repetitions.
Dental hygiene parades chased us back
from urine-filled bus stations.

La última noche pasamos por
la última plaza, noche buenas abrazándonos.
El nacimiento se hacía grandote y
se hacía chiquito.

All of the embroidery in the world
was made to appear as though it was
made with magic string
and hypoglycemic color.

Sin la memoria,
los recuerdos pierden su nota.
Su sabor camia, pero Oaxaca
vive más allá de ese lugar.

The Value of You

I seethe with horror and pain and anxiety
at the thought that you no longer love me.

My pride, cumbersome and long, gets the best of me,
as it gets the best of all of us.

Catatonia sets in, lentils fight back with discharge and fiber.
I cry, spit, vomit, laugh, sleep, don’t sleep, yell, remain still.

I write poems filled with childish anguish and repetitive themes.
If it were not for poetry, we’d all have bulimia.

Calm sometimes comes, in a great blanket of tangible fog.
I realize that your love is not all, that mine for you is not either.

The value of you for me is paramount, untraceable, and not quantified.
The value of its value makes it so I cannot negate its quality.


The solstice draws itself closer
as the air fades from summer cottons to winter glass.
Our world’s tilt makes it snow.

Bears are sleeping,
and geese use compasses and astrolabes.
They all dream of mai-tais and sunlight.

We use scarves and heated water in pipes
to soothe our skin and keep our hearts pumping.
It’s easier if we use multiple bloods.

Some of us live like this all year round,
with igloos and ice-skates and snow-games.
They have pet seals and use furs.

Others prefer the peace of hot chocolate
and board games around a fire, a-la Norman Rockwell.
Jack Frost peaks in and laughs.

Life isn’t dead but the temperature is slow,
and makes life slow too.
There are less smiles to go around.

There are holiday smells and sounds,
Like fa-la-la and hot toddies.
We comfort ourselves with our senses.

Winter time makes it hard to breathe,
but children still manage to create and laugh.
Let’s dig and shout and melt and wait.

Back to School

Back to school time means:
sharpened pencils
new high-tops
anxious crushes
grade point averages