Poetry & Prose
How do you tread on a Tiger’s tail ?
Baby.. we are jealous, her exciting voice and outcry
Gave us new understandings for sharp color, real color
I am very still.
My chest barely moves with each breath.
I am calm. I am warm.
Maybe it's because
My skin's the color of the
beach floors their ancestors conquered
So familiar to be taken
I don’t delete those numbers although
they’re dead, I’ve been told,
those persons, not numbers.
they said the good girl knows how to close her mouth
she always pretends to ignore seeing revolutions in the north
or in the south
the good girl used to crawl
she must hide the bright side of her soul
-the list goes on, on and on, names and dates i've forgotten,
but were an intense vivid and you-always-think-it-will-be-there in deep indigo, mirrors, the tiny magic stage--
maybe, maybe--like the song says, 'some other spring'-- for the ghosts, and onwards, 'for the living--
Seria
Como buscar una parte de ti mismo.
Mirate en un espejo y vete a ti mismo
Mira las caracteristicas de tu rostro
Mira el ser detrás de esos ojos
Todas tus facciones
Presta atención
El tipo de nariz que tienes
El arqueado de tus cejas
El contorno de pómulos y boca.
Beach, bright water, moonstreaked clouds
A triadic configuration of the summer night
Standing on the cliff above the beach
Since you’ve been gone...
I am left here all alone, with no one to talk to on the phone
With only the overcoat to keep me warm
No matter what surrounded them and
what the blizzard wailed at the sand,
that their shepherd’s den was close, nor
that they had no place else anywhere:
Fought to escape my own existence
I drifted in the void of empty promises
Left my soul in the catacombs of my mind
My heart aches
It breaks and breaks
My thoughts run at the speed of light
My head hurts from pure fright
If history repeats itself then the story of conquering Hernan Cortes is on the shelf while pol, Joe Crowley‘s hunkering down. She’d said she wouldn’t back the candidate if she should entertain defeat, but campaigned like a potentate, as capable as she seemed sweet.
7pm in April
and i hate everything
I remember when we woke together in the ancient streets of Spain
I remember I felt a strong shiver which could heal any pain
when the fantastic windows whispered in my ears " hello "
I couldn't dare to reply
I thought that voice came from my fellow
so I began to spy
You can see/feel/experience this work by LaMont Hamilton at The Drawing Center in SoHo.