The Land Where I Come From

I

the red earth

where my roots anchor

grows fruit trees

that mix their bright

colors and calls me

knows me

by name

the green hills

where moo cows graze

slow in their ways

like grandma stirring

the blackberry jelly

humming

by the woodburning stove

the rose garden

where Mariana and I

practiced our cartwheels

and made bridges

with our stomachs exposed

towards

the burning sun

the Indian trail

where the Indian lived

his bow and arrow

ready at hand

so we ran

laughing

laughing till the end

II

the summer breeze

humid from the sea’s weight

happy soccer balls

kicked around the sand

a far off improv band

seduced us

with their samba beats

the dirt road to that hotel

with the spooky mademoiselle

your breath on my neck

the whole night

where we slept

naked

on joint mattresses on the floor

the way you felt

deep in me in the ocean waves

the coolness a nuisance

to the heat inside

your eyes in their best hazel

laid rest

in the darkness of mine

the juice

that dripped from your elbows

as you savored the fat mango

shirtless at the kitchen table

made you smile your dimpled smile

like the blissful child

my country made of us

III

the land where I come from

is more than just a place

it is a desire

a taste

the green and the yellow

the blue and the white

light me with their fire

the land where I come from

is in the tears I cry

in my hands that ache

in my lips that never lie

in my sex

in my sweat

in my strength that never dies

the land where I come from

is this red earth

an old and wise love

that’s still burning

missing and yearning

calling

calling me back

the land where I come from

where the sea runs through my veins

where I crave

for the tongue and the sun

’cause I know, at the end of the day

the Brazil where my fruit trees grow

is where my bones remain

Fade

I lie with a lie thristy for she
fading as a hanging shadow is revealed
by morning light.
The moment aches
like his eyes, missing and green
weaning away from a sunbeam.

Abstraction is our today
mixing its sweet and sour juices
in all these can’t do’s and truces
melting as lyrics to song
like angered lighting
holding on to stone

Thorny chords sound and break
inside my anchored fist
See this face?
It doesn’t fade
It doesn’t desist
when it’s never even been kissed!

So be gone, like you came
quickly, heaving in need...
Before love boils over concrete
crown your queen and proceed
and save my face under lock and chains
for the next time you bleed.

Too Much

is it too much to ask

that safe space

the place where he'd know my shape
where I'd know his taste

find comfort in the every day...

is it too much to ask

a welcoming bay

strong arms to come home to
clean air to breathe

a chest to rest my everything…

it is in fact it seems

too damn much

when right here love is locked
clogged in people's throat

too good to know or touch...

destiny hides

too real to awaken and burn

the lips that beg for me
the crevices I fit in

fantasies that linger within...

is it really too much to ask

to lay awake next to a man

getting high off his odor
not having to wonder

if I belong...

Escapade

I see him leaning
Naked by the bedroom door.
His dark hazel stare
Overflowing with masculinity,
His base so tight in symmetry,
His girth and his demand,
A silhouette stiff in my hands

His mouth a miracle
Over my silky moist.
My river flooding into a sea,
the perfume lathering the air
In pungent stings of glee,
Like creamy gardenia,
Drenched in cinnamon liqueur.

A kiss melts into my breast.
Strands of black
Corrupt the white pillow case.
Stamped smile on red face.
The smell, the smell in waves…

My splendor rests in this bed unmade.
Swear me die here in escapade
For I vow to ache before he stops.

Julia

She dances
In a trance
She dances
Taking chance

High heels
Secrets
Romance?

The sadness of a bottle
The air sick
Denial

A lap
She dances
Champagne
Finances?

A man
A rich man
A man
A poor man

The green
Her eyes sparkle
The green?
The fountain
She marvels
She dreams

A man
A married man?
Travels
Romances

She takes a chance
He glances
The green
The green
Cir-cum-stances

Tearing at the seams
She dances
For him
To cum
For him
In a trance
She prances

Glass in hand
Dead end
Bend over
Descend
Dance, Julia
Dance

Cum
Fountains
Green
Mountains
So so green
Eighteen

She dances
She screams
She dances

An Alone

There's very few people in the world I can count on....

It's scary how much I can see through the surface... happy faces don't fool me.

I am scared of drugs... actually, I can admit that I'm pretty much traumatized of drugs! It causes such a discomfort under my skin when I find out someone takes any kind of drug... no matter how I pretend or ignore, I will never feel comfortable, and therefore, will never trust someone with any kind of addiction...

I still cry so much when I think of Heath Ledger's death... I don't know why exactly, but it feels too real to me.

A lot of my friends do drugs... do the math.

Or they have a map that guides each single step.

I know. I am. The fish out of water.

I don't care how many people I offend by what I'm about to write. And if you are offended, distancing myself is probably the way to go anyway...

I need to be somewhere where I'm around people that aim for happiness, for nature, for passion, for knowledge, for health...

I can't take people that thrive in misery anymore, in addiction, in self destruction, people that settle for the easy road... that create a vice so they have an excuse to not look around or within themselves and leave their comfort zone.

This is killing me. I am miserable fighting against negativity all the fucking time.

I hate people sometimes, I hate the people in New York sometimes, I hate this country most of the time, I hate myself for being so critical of people and places sometimes...

I hate my own voice, my own stories, my truths, my disguise sometimes.

I promise to always try to focus on the brighter side of the coin.

I will leave New York soon.

I will move on so I can discover more colorful skies. Perhaps another set of hazel eyes that will embrace me.

I will miss New York too. And the people in it. The faces are just endless paintings in my mind.

I have no idea where I am going.

I am scared of somewhere else scarring my soul even deeper!

I've fallen in love twice in New York. I miss it so much. Everything love encompasses. It is empowering.

I need that strength to come from somewhere besides my guts.

Family don't always count when you must survive on your own.

This is what happens to children whose parents are lost souls, this is what happens when no one holds your hand, this is what happens when you demand more of yourself than of anybody else...

You end up... an alone in a crowd of strangers you chose to pretend to know.

My Creation

Where is the seed that encompasses my name?

Where are the night crickets who sing in vain?

Where are the Saints, the bells, the chains?

The casting spells that brought me up

This proctor Jesus and God above

Plants me to the ground, bleeds roots in me

To only wake and discover

This beast Judas invested in all I can be

Breaks the cycle of what I'm told to believe

And as I walk away from the infirmity

The mother and father and their littleness

Slash their blessings in disguise

The eyes that judge and deny

This crooked line that made me a warrior

Through a road less traveled this time

Where is the sky that danced with me?

Where are the fish coloring my sea?

Where are the fairies, the fruit trees, the bees?

The goodbyes I said so lonely

Sings the gravity of my dreams

Hants me in all that I loved in between

This life of scratches, bruises, unmatched patches

I see the punishments for wearing my veil

This wicked need to be somebody else

The aloneness of a gypsy queen

I know what I want but not what I mean

By all these days I've tried to sew at the seams

With a head up high through uncertainty

Daybreak paints strange shadows wet and sore

Colors essential to my masterful uproar

But, where is the meaning in such dissertation?

Where are the sanctions for my emancipation?

Where are the rights and wrongs of my creation?

Poesy

Forever the art survived

Stroked the scars of time

Sometimes caused them

Most, healed them

The pen takes shape in the embrace

of fingers, mind, grace

as the face of history unravels

swells, with human race

a small change, a clock, a grain

a petal, a marble, a cloak, a dagger

words marvel at the tongue

as it sits quiet but alive on paper swagger

Boys coming home from war

Girls crying some

A weeping guitar

Grandma, so lonesome

A wave from a street car

And the pavement so new where I come from

Blazing sun so blue it hurts the yellow sky

Where could I write about all that is mum

In my sixth mind's eye

Without an art to guide my right

To feed my left, to blind my death

But hope to die

Without my art to write a life

So full of death until I die