Hydro Philharmonic

somos
lagrimas en agua
salt crystals
suspended
measuring
la vida viscous
in isomorphic
harmonies momentary
constellations
but a second symphonic
of orchestral
brilliance!
bow, timpani and trumpet
rising in shrill passion!
for a syllable,
(that syllable!)
before its second –
decrescendo into
syballence.
balance, baseline, basis
for what life –
is up.
brill
iance.
swimming in
contradictions, hear’s
to dischord!
and the accidental
harmonic of
ameobic respiration.

rhythm rhyme
and rhibosomes
rocking out
neutrons and
new tones
dancing with
equilibrium on the
edoplasmic reticulum.
somwhere
between grace
and chaos electrons
makin it or breakin
it in one collision
creating elementary
steps in the equation
bonding one
beat to the next.
bum-boom-
pumping rushing blood
through our
veins in a maze
until every
last capillary is up in
arms celebrating Desire’s
tears cried, pooled
self reflection until
every cell bathes
in this divine

red salt water.

voice

something help me hear me
from above from below from within
I’m listening I’m leaning
in towards your voice
yet it is but a whisper still
despite years of trial and growth
and journeys through a world
but dreamed but tasted but
danced for a moment
in a rhythm from memory afar
still lost in my bones
persisting below flesh everchanging.

why do we build walls
caging ourselves in?
resisting our own selves
only to limit again our capability
to encompass the rest
the vastness
that silent episode of freedom
that ricochets through ages
past, storming our souls
but approaching so gently
we can miss it just like that
a huge storm and we might
never know how she
blows and howls and ever
presses us closer to
our capacity.
the voractiy we need
to fly to cry to try to die
and soar winged into
new selves in new worlds
never known.

so scream and dance and sing
in every tongue you’ve ever tried
and even those you pretend
because I’m listening.
Even in the rain
glistening tears celebration
I am listening.

free'dem flowers

Frida in my Garden
Two lips petaled, pursed
wilting leaves yet thriving
alive wild piercing
eyes sininster soft sultry
heart staring back
midst winding stems in a sunless corner
next to the painting of the black
man in a black hat in a chair
smiling. You look on as if
into another realm
I think I’ve dreamed of it once
the flowers were large and violent

the catepillars were chainsmoking and arrogant
and all the newscasters flashed their
brash white grins, ferociously
feigning chewed humor
spittling sports specs and war
while voraciously gnashing
and guzzling words
about murders
that happened yesterday,
next door.