After the holidays

leaky creativity orifices
stopped up by turkey fat
and deep fried learning by
rote. fractured brain cells
halfway across a country
and then the other halfway
across too. split to dream
about digging a hole to China
and in the backyard to spill
some sunflower seeds
who would bend and sway
at the sun’s friendly gaze
longingly they sigh, that
every day might be a day
such as this, with the sun
and the center of the universe
all in one place. eyelids shudder
open to rain drenched moss
and the din of electrical
appliances, paved streets
lined with death: pine, fir
and spruce. in the puddles.
they lay.

Public Service

Before work I inhale,
inflate myself with hot
caffeine, swollen with the
infectious implication that

each word that insidiously
slips out of my flap-flap-
flapping lips is precariously
close to being important.

and as I exhale I conjure
inspirational messages and
questions that ignite something
that is so far in the future

I can only hope that it will
still exist. I stand up straight,
unafraid of the scrutiny of
little eyes, making me regret

that damned scientific inquiry
and I brush off the attitude
and insult, the “but, but, but”
and “I’m no good”s and the
failing grades and the demands
for a quality, quality, quality
education, as I inhale

again

I say good morning

Corpus

Somewhere between
Corpus and halfway to nowhere
I saw an oil drill
I saw cornfield after cornfield
clouds slow
road signs are lost but we are moving past
on and back
destination on a map
halfway between
here and the middle of somewhere

the turnin' 24 years blues

when you’re another year older
and all you can think is oh shit
better lay off the drinkin
you’ll need those brain cells now

when you’re another year less young
and you’re still bouncin checks
cuz moneys like water but
there’s no rain to be found

when you’re turning the corner
on another year of your life
you’ve got holes in your socks
dirty clothes on the floor
you look in the mirror and find
lines without smilin

you’re a whole 24 years
and got a grown-up double wide bed
it’s just too big
you’ve got the turnin 24 years old blues

Growing Pains

I woke up with a crink
in my neck. Must be early
arthritis. Stayed up past
eight and the pounding
of the ungraded tests
– or maybe it was
that third glass of wine –
are excavating rows
in my forehead next to
the zits – aren’t I too old
for all this? Five thirty
a.m., and all I want is
a cigarette.

Rapunzel

A quién hablo
por la ventana
no hay ni nadie
que me vea de ahí
me saludan
la calle vacía
el pasto suelto
el caracól aplastado
lo pisó alguien anoche
corté mis trenzas
hace un mes
me quedo

haiku #4

Me gusté la luz
cuando volví hoy. No hay
que hacer, quejar.

summer rain

I have seen the water pipe in the ceiling
rest more comfortably on the plaster
heavy with usage since I’ve been here
even for me I’m liberal with continuity
and the depression hangs overhead
called the landlord and he said not to
worry because his sister needed help
on her house out of state – and the
sky opened up and it poured

Holiest of Holies

to the nit-picky wonder
unforgiveable mundane
I have take a vow to you
for you it is a marriage
of convenience but for me
it is all I have, you are all
I have, dear life, and I do
not stand on ceremony
in the blowing embers I
will have none but you

Holy War

Jihad upon the children!
Jihad upon their books!
They will learn to read
and recite grammar
until the cows come home!
Jihad upon their parents!
They will help with the
homework!
Jihad upon discipline!
It is said that the child
will learn by rote.
It is said that the child
lacks in privilege.
Jihad upon socioeconomics!
It is said that these children
will not learn.

day 2

today

i send you

dear friend,

1 package organic beef jerky, original flavor, no artificial ingredients or preservatives; no added MSG; gluten-free, texas raised (of course).
2 trashy tabloids. sandra bullock is all up in that.
3 blue bonnets from the wayside of the mopac access road
pressed into the pages of the 75 Mind Building Crosswords from the Pages of The New York Times.
1 Love from Austin postcard.
3 badass temporary tats from the comal food store.
all wrapped, with love, in an american flag first class envelope.
with the hopes that it will find you resting,
recuperating,
resisting the urge to smoke
(among other things)
basket weaving
crocheting
taking long walks by a picturesque lake
contemplating life by said lake
(but not too much)
it is spring in texas
and the bluebonnets await your return.

untitled

“I live outside my mother tongue because I don’t want to hear it too often” -- Mark Sargent

bank account low
but back in line for
another run

addicted
to the stop and flow
of the traffic
across borders

junky to the aduana
I’ve got the marks
to prove it

Greenhouse

I cannot say
the wind moves me
nor that I reach
any great depth
I only absorb
what is fed to me
the formula
genetically modified
for me perfect
size, shape, shade,
potted and neat,
indoors apart
but in tornado country
it will not last long
I will be uprooted
replanted
where I belong.

n.o.

rollin’ down I-10
haven’t had a smoke in a month
but this one sure tastes good
and it’s the only thing between
me and boredom how long do we
have in this car only four hours
it’s not too long to stare out the
window east texas glares back
chili’s after chili’s and then the
bayou then a broken house with
roofs just like the roofs next door
sagging at the seams, the gutters
just hang, out, real low, upside
down, feeling not quite right-side
up the porch an extension of the
street a white new year’s
I think we talked about dogs
a white new year’s I think
a porch the extension of the
street and music sweet music

Sunday Afternoon

left work early
shouldn’t have
gone at all
telephone silent

the sun ought to warm your skin
but instead you feel the slightest breeze
you stand in the doorway
habit is one foot in the door
the smell of charcoal smoke
is the other foot out

Spanglish

my favorite language oh
what a bastard child you are
oh so popular so uso frecuente
it reminds me of a man
who made me happy and sad
que me hizo reír y me hizo llorar
the heartless ripping at the seams
patching back together every time
a new phrase: you look nice mi amor
tú también my love but we walked
the tightrope a balancing act one
penny in one hand un centavito en
la otra don’t look down.

haiku #3

coffee, burnt toast and

butter creep upstairs telling

me morning's starting.

dark strong coffee in

Rosa's blue tiled kitchen

nibbling galletas.

grandma's coffee's dark

as the swedes take it too, which

is just right for me.

mom and pops only

drink lattes. steamed milk

with espresso please.

"my people" drink turk:

sugar and cardamon seeds

stir, set, let foam rise.

haiku #2

balance on the tracks

step-up step step up again

eyes wobble aside

haiku #1

unlike the weekend

hump day blues happen so fast

stumble into sleep

Bone Hunting

Bone Hunting

Hung over as shit I sit

shotgun, holding it together,

not wanting to

vomit all over this beautiful

sunny day, hunting, hunting

for for the skulls of roadkill,

maybe if we turn here – yeah,

here just over that next patch

of gravel and dirt past the next

gas station and ribs joint but

just not far enough out of town
-- we stop at starbucks --
and almost stop at an antique

store, but it’s closed on Sundays

and we’re driving just driving
out of Austin, towards Spicewood
Texas, and after that Shovel Mountain,

Horseshoe bay, a skull is a nice souvenir,

better than other bones, to take
to the uncle, the rare book collector.

But what if we find the head, with
guts and brains and the other
stuff too, and our adventure
turns wrong, now we’re excavating
a cadaver, one that a tiny family of
opossums didn’t even want, but
we’ve scavenged it, guts and all,

so we put it in the used coffee

container, so now it smells like

roadkill and steamed soy milk,

and i gag because this is just too

much for a body going through

severe sugar withdrawl, but Becca

insists it's a gift and i agree because

no one wants to be the grinch and

i before i can say ok it's in the cupholder

on the passenger side jesus dude

can't we put it in the trunk so we stop

and open the trunk, but that feels too

much like a rerun of the Sopranos

so back to the cupholder it goes

and what we'd do when we get home

i don't know but that's not my problem

i just concentrate on not getting sick

all over this beautiful sunny day.