the artist survives

city life hopefuls with periwinkle dreams
sing to the stars perched atop evening window sills
stone cold living, concrete calluses with fluttering hearts
butterfly wings nestled in warm silky capes
our DNA dresses the night and greets the morning sun
tonight we dance
tomorrow

we also dance

Majik Mama

witchy woman standing in the corner of the sky’s little black box

thick thighs with treasure trove eyes

midnight silk laced in liquid crystals

she is moonsong

she is daybreak

she is the feathered dust

trailing behind shadowed silhouettes

dancing starlit swaying to and fro

ancient spirit with a quiet glow

electric pulses feed her fingertips   

as she sprinkles pixie majik

into your lost lonely heart

Amigo, Ayugo, We'll Still Be Friends

Photo By: Henri Cartier-Bresson

I think we’d be good friends,

You and I,

The very best of friends, in fact;

Two peas in a pod,

Two falling leaves on an autumn tree,

Two stretches of thread interwoven like braided bread.

This world's full of people,

Billions, I hear,

But you and I,

We were meant to be

The very best of friends.

And if we ever fall out of touch,

If you go this way

And I go that way,

If the moon you're glowing with,

Is the sun I'm beaming at,

If your footprints are painted upside down,

And mine are on the other side etched right side up,

I’ll tug on your string and wait for you to signal back.

Yin n' Yang

Photo by: Henri Cartier-Bresson

I knew a man who rustled in his sleep

From fighting ancient wars with dark creatures

That constricted him at his knees.

He held strong sometimes,

He fell straight sometimes;

He won battles,

He lost battles,

He felt the second hand click

As time jumped into his bed

And tussled with his sheets.

He unlocked his brain to unhinge his thoughts,

And unraveled his skin to crawl out of his flesh,

But when he woke each night,

Pained with a sweat,

He knew the moon and the stars,

The sun and the clouds,

Would greet each other again,

And the days would go on,

The earth would dance circles around the clock,

And it would all come to an end.

But I also knew the woman who wiped his furrowed brow,

And traced the constellations on his face,

And swayed him gently sweet,

And sucked the poison from his dreams,

And sewed the wounds just at the seam

So as to feel him heal.

Cry Baby

Photo By: Saul Leiter

She cried sometimes.

Some days more than others,

Some days not at all.

At times her tears were thunderous;

They passed through wells miles deep

So passionately, so violently,  

The belly of the earth rumbled

And did a heated dance.

But more often than not,

They were soft,

They were gentle,

So hushed, in fact,

They silently rest beside her,

So as not to disturb her,

As she grappled with

Lions,

And

climbed mountains,

And

chased fireflies,  

And

Rummaged through picture books,

And

Marveled at future books.

She cried in colors,

Beautiful colors.

Soft palettes of

Pastel pink and  

Dusted red.

She cried,

Because

She was feeling glum,

Because

She was feeling angry,

Because

She was feeling a laughter tickling her tummy,

Because

Words simply couldn't suffice the

Movement that was rattling inside her,

That was shaking her bones,

And hugging her blood,

And tugging on

Her putty-like heart.

The Other Side of Where the Sidewalk Ends

Photo By: Ensio Kauppila

I think I'd like to go there someday,

To where the sidewalk ends.

What atoms pluck the empty horizon?

And does the earth unravel itself to ride the milky way?

How far will my penny travel after its done free falling into the core?

And will my luck still be good if Abraham Lincoln is smiling up at me?

Where the sidewalk ends and the cliff becomes narrow,

Just at the edge of the earth,

Will the wind sweep me off my feet and wisp me into a floating vacant space,

Or will I catch the next cloud to the other side of where the sidewalk ends?

Madre Hermosa

La Criolla Del Manton By Saturnino Herran 

Rustic woman with Aztec legs

Thick rooted bones hold firm

Against the dusted ground;

Warrior woman,

Sturdy woman,

Adobe queen,

The one with the brick colored skin

Coated in soft clay,

Who embraces cosmic children

With her sun painted spirit.

Dream catching woman,

She chases the wind and

Catches it with her whispered tongue.

You are gold and yellow corn crops

With the smile of a thousand buttered cobs,

The warmth of its husked maize.

You are the rhythm of drums,

The harmony of plucked strings;

Your spiced veins race into bodies of melodic waves.

You are ancient civilizations,

The road that leads to

Cloudless skies painted blue,

And clean air seasoned with Dahlias and

Marigolds.

Teach me to be 

Rustic woman,

Warrior woman,

Sturdy woman, 

Adobe queen,

Mi Madre Hermosa