demons (poem #27)

—Summer,   is in the high winds—

grapes and graves   pendulate

hopeless \  drained

swooping men into their elixir, 

women / bee-stung / swollen 





what’s yesterday stays, 

an onset

of what the night brings—

sit here, sloppy and free




run from your shadow, 

a beast of your pastselves bred to breed more of what mauls,

leave it to die.

miedo a volar (poem #26)

Quisiera tener el abecedario de un filosofér sin corazón.

Correr con zapatos en las manos.

Esclava de la luna, 


saltando muerta en círculos.

Porque la vida no me calma?

Hablando mierda sin saber adonde quepo.

Hijoeputas con sus biblias.

La hipocresía es para los Angeles sin multas, 

sin temblores.

Hablar es para los que pueden tragar sin ahogarse.

Vivir con mil demonios —

es como vivir con mis pulmones, 

que desean suspirar, 

sin hablar. 

lacerated (poem #25)

In the silent morning, a violent cry

rises grim,

pain of having to live.

From now on, everything here is a snowstorm over Los Angeles.

You have a good heart, suffer for it.

A sort of perfection that cannot read attacks.

The simple words of Forever exist meaningless.

A new pain will never do harm.

It will be a contradiction.

A rare expression.

use your blood to paint (poem #24)

Breathe Los Angeles,

help us understand your moans, 

your restless legs—

and tell me why,

as soon as my unemployment money hit my bank account, 

you shook?

Tell me why it’s impossible to look out my window, 

and not see Elleggua’s face?

The sky 

splits in thirds,

a past

the present

a future.

You are the bark, 

and the alarm.

Skies of red and blue, 

you transmute.

You witness, 

and applaud us for the misfortunes that 

will mutate into


Allow us this ache.

Bless us with it. 

put a person on the stage (poem #23)

imagine cloves on tongue, a puncture

brewed and ardent, a simmer of ancients, lamenting the year and your body—

I feel the sneer, 

remiss in your unclad—

a pout of many circles, a winding of your strings

a puppet /jazz, 

swish like ocean, 

brine in weakness

spellbound figs rest on your lips menstruating on those you kiss

a sip of something wild,  a plush of bitten prudence— an oyster wet between the legs

a pearl covert/


bring your ear (poem #22)

We argued heavy—hours slipped away, the cracks of morning came and the drunks from across the street heard us yelling and we competed with each other. I was a broken record and nothing could stop it, especially you. I chimed away your ear and you twisted nothing, you surprised me. Truth surprises me because it is such a rare commodity—it isn’t real because none of this is, we are all just arguing and loving unsure as to why and why not. What better way to pass the time? Loving isn’t like drinking or fucking, loving is a virus—invisible, but I heard it in your voice that night, I heard it in the silence between. I felt it in my anger and because I am an actress I fooled you into thinking otherwise. There are only whispers when love isn’t. Screams happen too, so I’m a liar. I still have dialects of the pain playing on my irises as I fade. The cruelty of a mirage, thirsty for sleep. Will I ever dream or will I hunger for nothing but this litany? We all have a story about why our legs spread and why we cry with our thumbs in our mouths. The key is to dream together and paint our faces with whatever destinations we can afford. Silence is the way, but the only way to know is to scream.

all the pain was worth it (poem #21)

in my eyelids, there are metaphors of

the way life  used to be

a subdued way of interpreting

the wrong from the acceptable—

it’s easy to judge, but it’s easier to imagine

what we can get away with—

it is savagery, the way we inhale

the trickle of fear that bites its nails

stung and swollen

I am tongue reverberating

and speech of freedom lost—

when I set myself free, I

am comfort of body and my smile swallows me. I 

want my laughter to carry out the shipwreck 

of all the carnivals I missed.