Andrew Dreams of Trains

(From the Getaway Series)

His eyes go wide 

with the love for trains.

He can't hide it.

Enthusiasm  is contagious-

Clack Clack Clack

and in the background-

there is the sound of the ocean tide.

Ah little one 

(Le Petit Prince) 

Standing behind your mother 

Like a light house guiding you

in this life.

Keeping you safe.

You peek 

as she stands proud and 

one day you will want to go see where the trains go-

move from behind your mother,

but that is someday-

 

Brave little guy

Born curious always akin "why"?,

(Don't worry kid even I'm still askin "why")

You love the trains

and like a train one day

 love will take you

where need go. 

You were born brave, 

well maybe not quite born brave-

No, no you get that from your mother.

No the Jeff Buckely Version

(From the Getaway series)

There

in that old room of yours-

the music that played 

was the sound 

of youth.

I was so young, careless and clueless 

about who you were-

how much you would stay a part of me.

"But you don't really care for music do you?"

There

in that room 

mattress on the floor listening to your music collection-

 Grant Lee Buffalo-

Hefner-

 The Replacements-

(and I thought I was cool).

But

it was the  sad songs

that were answered prayers from a god 

who hadn't been pickin up in a while.

You'd play Jeff Buckley- 

 

Hallelujah would 

flood your room 

No Ark 

No dove 

No olive branch of forgiveness 

We drown in 

the sound of man with the voice like golden halo of light 

proclaiming thou shalt weep for love one day-

(and that day will comes for all)

It filled the room  like the light of a candle 

 inside of the ribs

filling us up

overflowing in you

illumining your great blue eyes.

 

It feels like love, 

and its evil twin

at the same time.

"And all I ever learned from love was how to shoot 

somebody who outdrew you."

the sad ones

Hallelujah 

the sad ones-

the ones I would played with you there

the ones I would play even after you were no longer there.

 Here

 in this room the song plays 

again after so long and the room is empty 

Here

even with the one 

who brought me back-

(even with her here)

Here

the 

room is empty

smaller 

cold 

and dark 

The song shines again

a halo 

a halo

singing

"love is not a victory march,

Its a cold and broken Hallelujah"

The people in this room

disappear

she disappears 

and for moment we are perfect 

in your room again.

You sing into my ear again. 

Billionaires Will Save Us

 Billionaires will save us 

Emerging  from the sun.

They will ride in chariots of gold  

Billionaires will teach the savage to grow crops

Of maize and durum

They will heal the sick and the lame.

They will bring the gift of song and dance.

They will save us all.

They will slay the monsters under beds and in closets

They will take on big tobacco

They will  part the sea 

They will promise to have and to hold

To  honor and protect 

In sickness and in health

Billionaires will accept you 

Billionaires will understand you

Billionaires will love you 

Open the gates!

Send the children and beautiful maidens holding baskets of flowers and wearing crowns of daisies in their hair-

 to greet them and shower them with petals.

Praise them 

Praise them 

Hallelujah

On a carpet of the finest velvet 

 (no expense is spared)

lead every billionaire -

Lead one by one to the special thrones of gold.

Where they will sit 

and watch as the guillotine is prepared in their honor.

They will sit 

Watch and wait 

Wait and watch

until it is their time to gently and lovingly place their necks 

Into the stock-

And regret- 

Regret that they only have one life to give…

(for you, for me)

Billionaires will save us, 

and wash away all our sins.

Amen.

shoulda

 Shoulda 

told one or the other I would slit the throat of the last unicorn for a taste.

Shoulda

asked one or the other to prom

Shoulda

carved one of their names on my skin with a rusty spoon.

Shoulda

left one of them barefoot and pregnant 

and 

the other with a child sucken 

at the teat

waiting on me to come back 

cuz I've gone out for a pack of 

smokes....

But their angels on their shoulders are better at their jobs

than the

devil on mine.

Shoulda 

said the things that your mom told you liars and charlatans 

practice in the mirror.

Shoulda done the things that make fathers sharpen their blades, 

and forget their good books.

Shoulda..

Coulda...

Woulda...

in the next life.

In the next life.

Semantics of Kind Violent Violets

"They got a message for the action man!"

 The violence- 

 The violence on the big screen is like a poem 

 for those that have bad taste-

I got bad taste-

for this and god knows what else action figure...

Which I own-

still lining the wall.

Look at those cave men go.

 Action movies

 verbs gimme verbs

 fun to funky

 Oh no, don't say it's true...

I'm happy-

Hope you're happy too-

The projector on the screen-

She's lived it ten times or more-

 "...feeling an all time low..." 

Men of action have no time for this!

My mother says to get things

done-

you 

better not mess with... 

better not mess with,

better not

remixy mxy

Luna gardenia de plata,

Que en mi serenata,

Te vuelves canción,

He was in love.

Poor guy

A shoe maker,

in love with a 

teacher.

He could barely read.

but 

he loved her so much

he learned.

But she left 

anyways.

He was so in love.

Por una morena de dulce mirar,
Luna de Xelajú,

Broken hearted he left

town for the big city.

There 

he met his wife 

soon after.

The other would return too late.

Too late.

The locals call it Xela 

I call the place where the moon

give lovers a hope

in a place where its hard to come by

En mis noches de amor

Hoy consuela mi pena

Por una morena que me abandono

small brown hands

There was a white face

that spoke on the T.V.

He said the brown

small faces,

taken from their

brown mothers as
their brown hands reach-

were being sent 

to the equivalent of 

a Summer Camp.

Summer Camp
like the ones named
after the red faces
killed off long ago
by the great great great
fathers of white faces

Summer Camp
with

Small brown hands
making leather wallets

arts and crafts

(glitter and beads)
first kisses

canoeing on sleepy lakes

singing by campfire.

yes white face this is a camp.

sexual assault
illness
death

this is that kind of camp-

killing something inside them

some will never have words for

small brown hands always reaching-

until they close shut.

small brown hands in fists
they will carry for life

Electro Boy vs La Paleta

Paleta /pa*let*a/  1.Spanish word for wooden paddle shaped stirrer or spatula used in cooking. 2. Spanish word for ice Popsicle made of fruit. 
(For the purposes of this written work, the first definition is appropriate)



As a young boy,
I would get into trouble around the apartment
while my mother would cook in the kitchen.

One time,
I was foolin' around the wall socket.
And to my surprise, I felt the jolt run through
my tiny body.

I must have cried out because,
my mother,
came from the kitchen
with a wooden paleta in her hand
to administer Guatemalan Justice.

(perhaps for messing with the wall socket
 or something else.
 I don't remember...)

But, what I do remember...
is the paleta broke.

Based on my then child genius powers of deduction,
I had concluded that the electricity had
granted me
Super Powers.

Powers beyond my wildest imagination.
and those days,
I had quite a wild one.

I was the Extraordinary Electro Boy-

Indestructible,
and
most importantly
Paleta proof.

I believed this.

But curiosity killed the
Electro Boy.

I asked my mother,
if electricity made you strong.

"No." she said.
"The paleta was just old and worn."

Needless to say,
I was shocked!

Disappointed to
no longer be
the Extraordinary Electro Boy-

My mother would,
replace the once defeated paleta.

She would continue to
stir meal after meal for
me.

Frijole Negro in a pot.

For Breakfast
For Dinner
For My Birthday

She would stir meal after
meal for me.

Extraordinary-
Indestructible-
Paleta Proof...
No.

Instead I became
strong,
(from boy to man)
raised on
black beans and tortillas.

(and the occasional paleta
smack down
to make you good as well as strong.)

The Paleta always wins,
one way or another.