Does God have a voice
Does it speak in flowers
Must be magical
In a desire no less luminance’d
Than a birthing womb
A miraculous fortress
With no sounds or wounds
Resolute and most bright
-Motherhood
Tag: Women
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To my sons . .
When I struggle
With your absence
You call me
My stomach beats
A thousand marches
Aches to be so many miles away
If I had no sight
I could find you both
In the greatest of multitudes
This haptic perception
Reminds me
That light
Is sufficient
If you dare to see it
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Catalina
The day my mother married
Hers, weeped
Futurity of leaving Cuba, gone
She grieved her only child
All efforts to bring her home, futile
Through the years
And under a fleet of angels
I saw myself
Reflected in her
Superbly waiting for motherhood
Incessant fire, love that burns
Like a tower, in me
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When I can’t sleep . .
I think of color
Conte technique
Over this pillow
I shade pebbles
Greater than your hands
Scattering through debris of seeds
In a place with so few trees
Hearing your echo intertwined with mine
What is ‘this’ passion
If you can’t meet me halfway
Sometimes
You feel like a void
That I follow
Without following you
A portraiture
The tonality
Of a single text
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Instant
You make my flame slow
It’s not what I give that smokes
To draw what we both can’t kill
In this mackerel atmosphere
I love you
Down tidily
Waist deep
Men like you
More absolute
A general liberty to sting
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Realities
My dad would always tell me, repeatedly.
‘You don’t pick the wrong men, they pick you’
This always resonates when finding myself in that sort of situation.
I’m quite imperfect couldn’t keep a marriage, not for lack of trying.
Tried to give my sons the illusion of balance. That didn’t last, it was soul crushing.
My sons are now grown men, and have a clear understanding of my side of the story.
Yes, there are two sides.
A high percentage of women leave – to live – not to be with someone else.
I’ve lived, loved, and raised two men.
Empty nest, feels loud.
Their happiness and relationships, validates all efforts.
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Noise
Unsure if it’s maturity
But when someone speaks to me
As if they know me
And make assumptions
About my character
My ears quit working
I go numb, blank
I have mastered it
They walk away
Because in that instant
Im just dead inside
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109
Orbits of grace
At the in’s of me
Right here
I fall
110
Times a day
Like something
That still glows
Tucked, under
A single address
My land of traumas
Heightened with fear
A place that holds
My childhood
So terrifyingly
Deciphering torment
And the inability
To seek help
From people
Who watch you
Fall, in less dirt
Painful terrains
This is Cuba – 1979
Martyrs of disguise
Making parenthood
Less fiable
As everyone
Is too busy
Surviving
Their
Own
Imprisonment
I’ve been
A lonely walker
For decades
This life
Has taught me
To believe
That above my name
There is a vacancy
A beautiful sky
With blue lips
That speak for me
Making peace
For the rest
Of my existence
Like a road
That is long
Yet spangled
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Shades of Purgatory
I once knew
How light was spent
Its trickling effects
As faith pointed
With a golden rod
My own despair
Sat in a womb of fear
Aware it was not science
My conscious inadvertently
Reversed millions of words
Narrowing it down to one
-God
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Quiet Resentment
Heavy lines
Mounted over me
These purple nights
Drowning super stars
Forgetting what it is to write
Phosphorus dynamite
Encircles and intertwines
Muting one decade at a time
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Just hold . .
Stone COLD
Hold ON
You’re still STRONG
NERVE pain loneliness
I haven’t LEARNED anything
EXCEPT for the LINES across your FACE
MORE human, than YESTERDAY
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Next Train . .
I am adapting
Cowardly, but adapting
This is distinction
Between surviving
And existence
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Poetry
My mercy
A need to substitute
My mouth, for a dream
Different homes
Pincushions for doorknobs
Damnit I love you
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‘Brightness Of My Dark’
One must be blind
Stripping God of its own light
Things none of us could be
The profound luster in lines
It’s happening to me
A wound, too echo’d to reveal
That love is not found in days
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To be broken . .
Fight for insight
God’s copyright
In this interior of light
My signature becomes
A wrath that requires no reason
-
Almost . .
Forgot
How still
Your mind is
This is not
A compliment
It’s rhetoric,
It chokes
The good parts of me
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Night’Comes
Covers us in blue
In the instant
Of this instant
Memory invents
Another present
A circular courtyard
With superstitious
Flashes of light
Intended to cover
Every crack in our horizon
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Mimic
The eternities of a second
My whole life to solve
Pitiless searches for a body
To grow old with
Nameless sensations
Such a cruel thing
To miss the dead
With this immeasurable clarity
Like gravid drops of hope
Spinning over itself
Tirelessly, till we learn
How to love, again . .
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Untimely
The furthest of reaches
Sex seal serpentines
These syllogisms
Transform me
Inside is outside
It is everywhere
And nowhere
Invented
Devoured
– Man
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Nobody Knows
We live in identical rooms
We blankly wake, we greet
From one balcony to another
Successively for a hundred years
Between now and tomorrow
We will spend the rest of our days
Growing gardens out of angry stars
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Untitled
Love clamps itself
Leaving small gaps
With just enough spaces
Allowing you to taste
Your very own tongue
Arrows & Metaphors 
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