Wednesday, March 11, 2009

for JS

From the trunk that holds his jaw,

A tunnel of a place: moist, fleshy-pink
Juncture wherein a voice, not just in any chord,
But his voz, emanates, and it is heard, here, these

Intonations, this warm glaze of pronunciations that
Like a fist can grasp my far width

In two quick grips, motions unlike any other gesture
or twitch I’ve come to know from a vato.

Saliva, and the entire circumference of it is, herein,
Surrounded magnificently, deeply; the soft muscle
I meet, that muscle I pound and punch, squeezing,

Teasing, and I am at the slick brink of the muscle’s own
dark paradise. Huffing. Huffing.

An influx, my nut. Jawbone protrusions,
Melodies from our good times ensue.

Monday, March 09, 2009

Regalitos for a Homeboy Boda that Never Went Down, 2006

Monday, March 02, 2009

Swallowing the Afternoon a Spider Bite Overtakes My Leg

Muscles steeped in the sounds
of us.

The ball called sun is falling, so sallow, so full—

In the courtyard, the ribbons and knots of
Red, and the tiny eruptions of seedlings;
entrenched, my penchant for swallowing

I pursue you.
I recall the heaving of your pecho:
Leaving me, leaving me.
Tepid breaths break off.
Concrete has fractured underneath their fall.
Little pieces, little deaths.