Burn with the moment!
Lay down with the moment, let the moment ride you!
sweetest of despairs and concrete corners,
I’m not trying to emulate the life of a movie from a place
I don’t even recall having a sunset…
I am, however, trying to understand how much of the moonlight I can get
without being burned out by her powerful kisses.
Like, I feel thrilled because I fear I’m dying
So I want to ask quickly
if the Center of the Universe can hear me
if it wants the skins to hold each other without strangling each other
and how many times he had to try until he got the scarab and the jeweled humming bird right
and how many times he gave me the blessing and curse
of speaking tongues
so many tongues
because the face of those before me spread fast like a bullhorn rally cry
through my temples
and I can’t give myself into fighting it
when I fear that the chain I broke was the one that kept me knowing East from South
all the mornings of my life.
I fear the birds inside my heart
leather kisses and ripped underwear
I fear the butterflies that come, kiss, explode in my hand and turn again into lilacs.
I have to be careful though, drip by drip and drop on tongues, everyday I feel the grasp slipping
Will I be strong enough?
Can I power through them lies, come to the other side,
advocate for the real hardcore wood inside the atoms in my eye?
I’m feeling, yes, like a wooden puppet,
surrounded by forces ten times, twenty times, fifty times stronger than me, fiercer,
and one tiny hand to understand and grasp
and fire within me exploding,
I feel like a star combusting but I haven’t even reached the top of it’s potential.
Canvas and table, maiming and teeth falling
possible drug stores full of the things I miss the most,
as is the green that feeds my paranoia
as, the blue sky in which I used to walk when I believed in the coming of fairness
as in, the powerglove that clothes the hand of those who haven’t given in.
My hands, my feet, my ribs are not enough
to conquer and be conquered
to say goodbye and say hello
I need to meet God this days so he can hold the edge of the papers in which I’ve been drawn.
I try to stay ahead, to bring my light instead of the shadows
but the pressing continues and the throat demands fresh sunlight to keep on working.
Does it even matter?