ars poetica

ARS POETICA (for Pablo Neruda)

Between skyscraper dark alleys
wide open wilderness valleys
summer’s thick sweat
winter’s deep shiver

my heart hides in misty shadows of ash colored lungs
behind a shaking rib cage vest
delicate to absorb frustrated fist pounding
jagged breezes sharply cutting at acute angles
secrets trapped in dimly lit project window
unknown combination locks rusted

for each crystallized snowflake tear that plunges
for every forgotten word smile
I meditate in remembrance hoping
these drifting thoughts are déjà vu

like summoning celestial ancestors
twilight conversations bullshitting
about tomorrow’s uncertainty

they once told me
if morning’s over easy sun smiles
then we can wink back

inside jokes with the sky
make flowers different tints

scattered remnants of happilyeverafter stir
in disturbed puddles
quiet waves crash cracked concrete

shattered mirror gives distorted reflection
no compliments
there you are simply

fragmented
como pernil en un cubano

could I rhyme this
to make it more musical

does it need to be

truth prefers to be whispered
loudly
away from orange street spot lights



IN THE FINAL ANALYSIS

Puerto Rico’s paralysis
caused that plane trip two suitcases
full of guayaberas and congas

My last name is Morales
more or less of the chicken soup
doesn’t matter when you want none

Phone home at telefonica
when Verizon’s not on the horizon
Infinite rights fly musical kites
cutting cloud Dutch Master

Sky’s falling like chicken little said
Alley cats and stray dogs pouring
Rain Rain Rain go away
Rain Rain Rain go away

so i can come out and play another day
Puddle puzzle pieces
muzzle dollar & dream lotto mottos

Broken windows closed doors
Process is triangle rest lah spot to cornerstore

Buy nickel bags of weed
Throw the seeds in the ashtray
Hope one day they’ll grow like
weeds in vacant lots blowing to & fro

Depends on if the sun’s shining
Clouds got silver linings
Story books happy endings
Ghettos got tomorrows
looking like yesterday’s
five o’clock shadow

Silhouette sidewalks of New York
talk bochinche and smell of seasoned
pork shoulder/Chips get colder
as temperature congeals/reveals
truth inside platano peels

Don’t slip
Or is that superstition ??

40’s blunts and hearts cause us reminiscin’
traditions of tragedies cause
apathy galaxies
and mothership’s headed
towards the black hole

Soul outta control like runaway rollercoasters
Toaster burning bagels
unable to turn table
flippin’ through cable to find

spiritual inner peace
feast at TV dinners of fools
think it this game we know the rules?

I learned in kindergarten
color outside the lines for
a more pretty picture

In Life’s coloring book
we are characters
with empty thought bubbles
thick like cotton clouds
separate each thread unique
cobwebs of soliloquies

Meditate on memory stashed on shelf
dusty self/reflection in transit train/express

many stumble on escalators of success