(no subject)
THE COMMENTARY: VIA BOCA CHICA
-”hispanics don't have influential figures in the u.s., like us", he said
he sneered and
condescendingly named
m l ks and malcom xs
my self-regard dead-end on that image
yes that image, when he-
i want to
it rang in my head,
"i want to replay that mental tape recorder in my mind", i said
i want to be disconnected from that tv
she is cunning, i try to look away at her shaky
static image jumping on the screen
"be quiet!", he said
as she read the epitaph on my tongue
where it laid rest in its own prison
i glare & she mumbles
"there is an art to war", she said
she applies it even. eyes gleaming
as her finger slowly
- circles
it hurricanes & whirlwinds
as if her finger slowly fingered
it had the power to shape
new worlds, new thoughts & new
fears
hispaniola
cuba &
puerto ric-
oh
or is it bori-kén,
that's how I knew him back
then
back when, he was 14
in 92, my feet deep in the aboriginal's sands
in the heat, their hands bruised
blistered
10 fingers
ten of one
one of ten
dead
their lips were cracked and parched with
the yucca; it crusted on their teeth
the stalagmite
the mines
the soil
the revolts
the paints
the cut stone
suicides
abuse ofs
rape bys
the amalgamations of guava & saliva
the diseases; they were numerous
the deceit
the giving and taking ofs
the decimations & enslavements
of kings, by kings
with broad feet movements
i create new taíno monarchs in the sand
the water purifying me
"it purifies me", to him, i said
- new formations
they are ulcerous and
the rope it tightens as the knot grows
flash backs visions, the chivo¹ is dead as
minerva, patria & maria lay in fetal
position-ing themselves
with new & quick
movements, only known to them
new life
it reigns
it rained that day in the sugarcane fields
i clutched my stomach with new hopes
only to be left with
a sour mouth; thick and bitter taste
- the blood
"i bet he tasted his own", he said
it was fall
asthmatically i laid
in a stupor
i had much heart but not enough to
save breath and escape the
constant wearing and
wheezing on torsos
i grasped his chest where
his face is ironed-on
tattooed and
adorned on with the-
it was red & lustrous
where he was an island
in the pool he laid in on
that october day
only to be reborn again, as
mr. ruz sat on a
throne carved by
him
i want to
it rang in my head
again
i want to
play back
tape recorder
i want to
create new terrain
in new forests
in new lands which
"ambition's my machine and it
will build new megalithic thrones for him", she said
- dispersed
and weary
we shaded their weak sticky backs in
sweat, blood & grime
they were comforted by
candles, lights & santeria-ism
the glyphs; they were the symbolist dreams
on the walls
where they inhaled the monotheism that was forced onto them
like wild & new exotic fruits
a new hype
a new label
an import
a denizen
the technicolored landscapes
the zebra patterns they wore
the exhaustion
the constant beatings & losses of breath
the closing of eyes; the wincing
the stealing of names & renaming
of kings, by kings
and
with a deep-rooted sigh; it's disconnected.
-E.M.M.
boca chica- a small mouth, a beach in dominican republic.
¹chivo- a goat, in reference to rafael leónidas trujillo.
-”hispanics don't have influential figures in the u.s., like us", he said
he sneered and
condescendingly named
m l ks and malcom xs
my self-regard dead-end on that image
yes that image, when he-
i want to
it rang in my head,
"i want to replay that mental tape recorder in my mind", i said
i want to be disconnected from that tv
she is cunning, i try to look away at her shaky
static image jumping on the screen
"be quiet!", he said
as she read the epitaph on my tongue
where it laid rest in its own prison
i glare & she mumbles
"there is an art to war", she said
she applies it even. eyes gleaming
as her finger slowly
- circles
it hurricanes & whirlwinds
as if her finger slowly fingered
it had the power to shape
new worlds, new thoughts & new
fears
hispaniola
cuba &
puerto ric-
oh
or is it bori-kén,
that's how I knew him back
then
back when, he was 14
in 92, my feet deep in the aboriginal's sands
in the heat, their hands bruised
blistered
10 fingers
ten of one
one of ten
dead
their lips were cracked and parched with
the yucca; it crusted on their teeth
the stalagmite
the mines
the soil
the revolts
the paints
the cut stone
suicides
abuse ofs
rape bys
the amalgamations of guava & saliva
the diseases; they were numerous
the deceit
the giving and taking ofs
the decimations & enslavements
of kings, by kings
with broad feet movements
i create new taíno monarchs in the sand
the water purifying me
"it purifies me", to him, i said
- new formations
they are ulcerous and
the rope it tightens as the knot grows
flash backs visions, the chivo¹ is dead as
minerva, patria & maria lay in fetal
position-ing themselves
with new & quick
movements, only known to them
new life
it reigns
it rained that day in the sugarcane fields
i clutched my stomach with new hopes
only to be left with
a sour mouth; thick and bitter taste
- the blood
"i bet he tasted his own", he said
it was fall
asthmatically i laid
in a stupor
i had much heart but not enough to
save breath and escape the
constant wearing and
wheezing on torsos
i grasped his chest where
his face is ironed-on
tattooed and
adorned on with the-
it was red & lustrous
where he was an island
in the pool he laid in on
that october day
only to be reborn again, as
mr. ruz sat on a
throne carved by
him
i want to
it rang in my head
again
i want to
play back
tape recorder
i want to
create new terrain
in new forests
in new lands which
"ambition's my machine and it
will build new megalithic thrones for him", she said
- dispersed
and weary
we shaded their weak sticky backs in
sweat, blood & grime
they were comforted by
candles, lights & santeria-ism
the glyphs; they were the symbolist dreams
on the walls
where they inhaled the monotheism that was forced onto them
like wild & new exotic fruits
a new hype
a new label
an import
a denizen
the technicolored landscapes
the zebra patterns they wore
the exhaustion
the constant beatings & losses of breath
the closing of eyes; the wincing
the stealing of names & renaming
of kings, by kings
and
with a deep-rooted sigh; it's disconnected.
-E.M.M.
boca chica- a small mouth, a beach in dominican republic.
¹chivo- a goat, in reference to rafael leónidas trujillo.