Take me to the museum

Take me to the museum,
kiss me between the paintings.
I want art to know
how we make art on the daily.
Let's show each piece
how we are a masterpiece.
Let's exhibit our kisses all over Paris
New York City, or Italy; this is a must see.
Show them that our love can conquer anything.
Let's give embraces to any critic who'll take them.

Take me to the museum.
Kiss me between the paintings.
Let's create something classic, modern,
maybe even contemporary.
I just want art to know,
that there is nothing more beautiful
than our love.

Flowers are nice

Everybody loves flowers.
Flowers are nice.
I'd give you flowers
but I know flowers die.

Instead, I write poems
about flowers and your smile.
I could also write about the hours,
the moments passing by.
Write about how time flies by,
whenever you are by my side.
I'm certain it conspires to expire
in the blink of an eye.

See,

I could give you flowers,
but I'd rather kiss your back.
I'd rather hold you closely,
and never let go of your hand.
I could write about the flowers, yes
those that grow in my insides.
They live in my stomach
and sway when I wake up
to your skin next to mine.

Everybody loves flowers.
but I know flowers die.
I'm gonna skip the flowers,
and offer you my time.

because even though hours turn into minutes,
and minutes into seconds, I can't deny,
nothing make me happier than an instant
in your arms.


yo. fuck flowers.

*tickity tackity**

el tickity tacky* de tu teclado
invoca en mi algo innato.
escribo porque es mi manera de vivir
y las cosas las tengo que decir.
el tickity tacky* de tu teclado
invoca en mi este mensaje
y sin ningun rodeaje
te dejo saber lo que en mi nace.

tickity tackity**
de tus dedos emite
un palabreo incomprensible
para muchos, indefinible,
para otros, sensibles.

tickity tackity**
perdemos el hilo
y la conversacion se convierte
en otro nido
del tickity tackity **
llegando a nuestro oido.
y nos olvidamos
pa' que fue a lo que vinimos.

tickity tacky*.
te escribo,
a ver si escuchas mi ruido.
este en el cual baso lo que vivo.
estas palabras sin filo.
que solo defino
como
tickity tackity**

She has freckles like the Bing Bang did.

she has freckles
and i like to spend my days/nights with her
forgetting that we are floating in this space.
Nebula Bushwick is the galaxy we incorporate
inside orange sheets,
captured by the air conditioners' breeze–
i ponder, on how many freckles she has.
her soft skin, pale as a wedding veil,
is the perfect background for skin constellation.
i count these freckles with much elation
one by one. each by each.
sitting at the Sun's feet.
Listening to Donovan talk about yellow things–
she has freckles.
and every time i find a new one
it's like uncovering an uncharted island
in the archipelago of her body twitch–
my hands explore more and more,
the containment evaporates–
take off! "Houston, here we go!",
ashore i am left between the oceans of
her interstellar flow.
she has freckles.
like the stars in the night sky, I want our stars to
collide and bing bang all over the place.
Creating oceans, earth, wind and more–
Europa and all the continental moons
orbiting around us.
I want to be prettier than Venus,
with her and her freckles.

DAVID BISBAL DID A CAMEO ON JANE THE VIRGIN. WTF.

The room smells like orgasms and spliffs.
It resembles a brothel, but with a degree on the wall.
Maybe brothels have degrees on walls.
Who am I to judge? Thermometers are everywhere.
Temperature is measured by mercury.
And although i am part of the debauchery,
It's not the right climate to get into this.
The lighting in the room is based on
"What a 15 year old sees drunkenly stumbling
In old san juan. Heels included."
The fan is always on in this room.
Makes great ambiance noise.
The noise also resembles waves
And palms raving in beaches.
Or so the room thinks.
The room is trying to make it happen.
and maybe it has to whore around for a bit.
No room to quit.
The room smells like Orgasms and spliffs.

you're like new york at sunrise

you're like new york at sunrise
subway carts escaping the alcohol stench 
of stragglers left behind,
inside these tunnels the city vibrates. 
a sweet hum only those who are in tune can taste. 
you're like new york at sunrise, 
joggers training for the daily race, 
getting ready to be ahead of the game.  
rise and shine, enjoy the hustle 
of a new dawn that breaks. 
you're like new york at sunrise. 
quiet eruption waiting to happen,
as each second passes, 
more light caresses the empire state.
and the taxi engines begins to take.
i gaze in awe at the tranquility this scene creates. 
you're like new york at sunrise, 
peaceful rumble,
awaiting for instruction from the skyline's colors. 
red. orange. pink. enjoy it, 
a volcano of air pollution is now showing. 
sip some specialty coffee
to shake out the haze.
you're like new york at sunrise.  
a moment of grace before chaos reigns. 
The never ending adventure awaits. 
a sweet view of the statue of liberty's silhouette. 
a peaceful perspective of a not so peaceful place.
you're like new york at sunrise.
I hear the chilly newspaper thud on the stoops
As the tink tink clatter of the morning recyclers
Ravage gentrified trash cans. 
Making it day by day.
You're like new york at sunrise. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga; disfrútalas, como senda jeva.

Mueve esas nargas Milanga, 
que la rumba esta buena.

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

pa' eso se hereda de la abuela. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

que la cosa se pone buena. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

que nadie te quita de ellas. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

hipnotiza a quien quieras. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

tu historia no es cualquiera. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

importa un bledo que piensen aquellas. 

Mueve esas margas Milanga,

sacúdelas hasta que no puedas. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

no todas encienden candela. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

entiende el poder que hay en ellas. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

a ver quien cae en la rueda. 

Mueve esas nargas Milanga,

pa' que no se pregunten,

y no se asusten,

cuando vean que 

la que menea tiene 

curvas, humores, 

métodos seductores.

no necesita retoque

no inventa, reintenta

de cambiar lo que es.

Senda Jeva. 

INCUBUS CAME OUT WITH A NEW MUSIC VIDEO TODAY, THIS IS PRETTY GAY

Alas it was you.
It was you all along.
The spark I was missing,
the muse that kisses
the lighting that strikes me---
helpless, I am when you are near.

Alas, it was you. I was looking
far and all the way through
and right inside me, there was you.
Why was I such a fool? It was you.
Always you. The match that fires this,
inside, you rattle and shake,
rattlesnake---come bite me.

Alas, it was you. All along,
it was you. The current that pushes,
a tsunami floats within me,
please don't spite me for not realizing
sooner. I will evacuate to a safe zone soon enough.
Alas. It was I. In disguise,
safe and hiding, my demise.
It was I all along. A muse so divine.
Living in your spine. Time to let it shine.

y así es como debe ser.

Estas sola.
Acéptalo.
No es un juego.
Estas sola,
y se te va de las manos.
entre tanta ola,
se te olvida
como nadar.

Estas sola.
Acéptalo.
No es un juego.
No hay remedio.
Llegas. Sola.
Te iras. Sola.
Entre tanta pangola,
se te olvida
como progresar.

Estas sola.
Acéptalo.
No es un juego.
Es perfecto.
Lo necesario,
por mas que busques,
lo llevas adentro.

Estas Sola.
Acéptalo.
Entre tanta historia boba,
no pierdas lo mágico de
las conversaciones
a cualquier hora
que surgen
entre tu y tu aliento.

The Wetness Of It All

There are 5 oceans in the world and I've only had my feet in two.
I've heard of the seven seas but when I look at wikipedia
the list goes closer to fifty three.
I'm not sure how the oceans I've stepped on differ,
other than location, color and temperature.
I guess the waves differ too.
Never been to the red sea, black sea or dead sea.
There are 5 oceans in the world, but
there's more land dividing me from that I want than water.
After extensive research, I've concluded that
the Caribbean sea is warmer than the mediterranean.
In case you were wondering,
Earth is 70% water. What I want is also 70% water.
It's kind of funny how cumming made me think of oceans.
The wetness of it all.

RE: Lack Of Funds For Education

Are you back to hating school again?
Back to not caring what you're doing?
Is it part of your daily initiative,
to close down on philosophies
that help move ideas ahead?
Are you back to hating on school again?
Kid, why can't you see the beauty in it?
An educated mind will make words so divine
that anyone would want to read them.
Can't you see that? Your words need educated millions.
So tell me, are you going back to mishandling funds again?
Magically cut the creative programs again?
Are you back to hating on school again?
Not caring about the future generations you are ruining?
Is it part of your campaign needs to shut down schools
and make universities unattainable?
Tell me Kid,
Are you back to hating schools again?
I thought that was something we experienced in childhood,
but I guess you never outgrew the hate of books.
The ones that hold biased lessons inside of them
and make it OK for you to hate on school again.

i wish my words would hurt you

i wish my words would hurt you

but they don't.
they don't have that power.
of ripping any love
out from
your insides
and into an oblivion
of dark thoughts.

my words don't do that.
they don't have the power
to make you sad, or mad
or glad, they have no power;
none at all. over you,
my words might as well
float on by.
no matter how hard I try
you go on by.
as if no worth is of them.
to you,
my words are not worthy.

they don't hurt.
they don't feel anymore.
doesn't matter,
the love they once declared,
it's gone.  my words,
they don't want you. any more.

The words that are coming out
of my heart
don't mean anything to you.
they have
no meaning at all.
for you took it with your
cowardice.
you took it, when you decided
to give up on me.
For something less magical
than the words my heart can speak.

There it is again

It finally reached the bottom of my stomach,
the feeling I always get when I realize

I once again failed to "let go".

To "forgive and forget",  none of that

seems to process fast enough in my headspace,

that is, in comparison to yours.

There it is, that emptiness of

knowing I'm not worthy enough

but someone else now seems to be.
The burning that goes through my veins

whenever I see you happy, for I'm not the source

and then I realize, how could I have ever been such a thing?

There it is again, the darkness in my thoughts.

Those that don't wanna let go. Because like you,

they are not sure what they want. And like you,

they are convinced nothing works between the two of us

anyways.

But, no matter what,

there it is again.

Me seeing you move ahead,
and you forget all that was left. 

Whatever little bit of us 

was actually still there. 

And this time, I hope the feeling stays long enough

for me not to have to greet it with open arms again.

There is it again. 

Patterns and Tendencies

INT. BEDROOM- APT. HAPPY GROVE, BUSHWICK NY  -- NIGHT

My roommate just went to go fuck her boy toy of the night and I sit here wondering what is it that I'm supposed to be doing right now. I guess getting baked is starting to manage thoughts to become aroused and a text could "make it work".  Of helping me find manners more intense than what they're supposed to be. I always overthink things, right. So.
anyways, I thought to myself one day.

INSERT TEXT: "WHAT'S THE POINT?"

You see patterns, tendencies, some would say,
of how it all might go one way. Her way.  My way.
The only way. The way it always goes.  It just
goes.

The way you find yourself waiting for another call.
A text. Some sort of love con quest,
not "con queso", because sex tends to make things
difficult. And there's no point in trying to make
something beautiful out of something that
flourished and died already.
Or so she believes.

You see, flowers die because you take them from their root.
And here lies the problem I can't compute
we all can't seem to uncover a solution
to get away. From everything that not even sunshine can re array.
A pattern of breaking from the way, the only way.
Her way.

INSERT TEXT: I AM ON HIATUS

When you see patterns, and tendencies,
you try and steer away. But flowers
in spite of Global Warming,
still come back in May.

And roots form again.
It's a tendency we can't change.
Try to remember whose uprooting
destroyed the flourished garden, and regardless,
it's a stupid tendency to think about her flowers
any ways.

Entre otras cosas

INT. COCINA LA CASA EN BLEECKER- BROOKLYN,NY-NIGHT

Sonando desde el "BOOM BOT" que le regalaron "It's Always Like This" de Bombay Bicycle Club, ELLA (20's) mira lo que le resta de la COPA DE WHISKEY que se sirvió mientras AQUELLA (20's) juega con su pelo, dando vueltas entre sus dedos, y dice;

ELLA
(jarta)

Siempre es así

de porvenir en por
venir.

yo me voy,

tu te quedas.

Yo regreso,

tu me esperas.

Un cambio.

Aquí todo parece ser estático

"Buenas noches, bienvenidos a más de lo mismo,
Alcohol, marihuana

peste a sudor--

LA PENDEJA DE LA ESQUINA

(V.O)

que importa, si la pasaste cabrón

AQUELLA

el que trabaja se queda chiquito,

frente a un tipo, 

con la mano alza.

Un titiritero que controla

el criquero que es

mi diario vivir.
y como dice la canción,
siempre es así.
Te levantas, así por que si.

un sol, un nuevo día pa' vivir.
y te encaminas a un trabajo que no te importa un carajo,
pa' pagar las deudas de una
colonia.

ELLA
entre otras cosas.

FIN

andaba tu piel, Carmín

andaba extrañando tu piel carmín
caminando por Madrid,
aquella tarde cualquiera
sin embargo, este cuento puede ser largo,
andaba en west village,
caminando en adoquines,
y pa' los fines de esta historia,
no te cuento en donde me metí.
Andaba buscando un calor así,
ese que te lleva de allí
a aquí, es que andaba
una memoria cualquiera,
aquellas que llegamos a crear,
sin decir, caminando esa noche,
de adoquin,
             
                      en      adoquin.

andaba una memoria merodeando,
el frío y el viento no le dio espanto,
y por si acaso, no diré en donde andábamos,
no seguiré divulgando,
andaba ya de camino a casa,
a evitarme un des encanto.
con tanto alcohol en el sistema,
siempre aparecen llantos,
me voy para evitar un duro estallo.
y en lo que me transportaba a la plaza de las Armas,
sin demoras ni despacios,
andaba tu piel carmín
debajo de mi sabana "tri li li".
parece que andaba la memoria repasando
los recuerdos por Madrid.

How Many Cups Of Coffee Does It Take To Get My Heart To Explode?

Serious Question: (If I Had A Heart)

How many cups of coffee does it take

to get my heart to explode?
I just want to get rid of it 

so it feels no more.

I'd rather have it bursting from my chest, 

running a marathon out on the streets 

of Boston, or maybe New York,

than sitting solemnly, in my chest,

beating...slower...and slower...

because nothing seems to amuse it anymore.

Should the coffee be dark roast?
Something strong, something bold.

To get the motors running.
Heart bumping.
Because no amount of medium roast will do the trick.

And no one takes blond roast seriously.

You hear me Starbucks?

Should I buy my coffee from the corner market?
Or go and run on Dunkin?
Ingest some Ventis on Trentis On Ventis

as catalyst for a wonderful and utterly remarkable,

rapid beating heart
that will eventually trigger

a burst in my capillaries,

fuck my arteries.
Get my blood flowing out of my body.
onto other adventures, I suppose,

make me feel

what it's like to not feel
my skin crashing into yours,
creating heat, gasping for more.

see, blood seems to make things feel,

like body heat. and anemia. and leukemia. 

and even nausea and relief.
In his case, I want to call it quits.
Get rid of all of it.

Should my coffee be black?
a straight attack,
nothing to retract,
fuck skim, whole, soy milk.
no sugar added, 

because who wants to be sweet at a time like this?
I want this to be short and quick.

So please answer me this:

How many cups of joe

can help me destroy
the whole idea that love 

lives in my chest,
and not in my thoughts?

cogí un atajo y me perdí.

Mamá! Mamá! me perdí.

Me perdí en las calles de Madrid.

Vagando por Tirso de Molina,

no fue apropósito. Solo

andaba en busca de aires más livianos,

unas cuantas copas en el sistema,

y un buen rato.

O quizás fue aquel verano en Boston,

donde la soledad se hizo

mi abrigo y decidí 

finalmente, quitarme ese amor

que me sacaba de quicio,

pues ya no aguantaba más el vicio

de querer y no ser querida.

Me perdí, no se cuando,

pero lo hice.

Y aunque me lo avisaste desde temprano,

me perdí en los miles de buenos ratos

a los cuales me comprometí

por caprichos de chamaquita.

Mamá, me perdí.

Y aunque siempre me dijiste

que el amor esta aquí,

en la familia, busque en mis afueras,

lo que no tenía que estar buscando. 

Y me perdí.

Mis piernas, que alguna vez 

caminaban por Tirso de Molina,

pedalearon por Boston,

y se abrieron entre tanto mal mozo,

cogí el atajo más corto,

no supe diferenciar cual era mi propósito

y

mamá,

me perdí. 

Debt Notes

I wrote this on my phone.

I bought it with money from someone

who probably owes.

You know, a casual loan.

Pay for an education,

give money back to the nation,

its part of the compilation

of contracts we signed off.

To be grateful.

For all these opportunities the

federals, direct or subsided, 

have given me.

This barter system we live in

is based off loans and loans and loans. 

See.

America owes to China, 

and they owe the earth some more,
and earth has a debt notice from the universe,
and so on and so forth.

When you come to think of it,

What is it really that we own?

I hold these debt notes on my savings account.
For what?

Who knows.

Quiéreme.

Quiéreme mientras te quieres.
Búscame mientras te encuentras.
Anhela mi regreso apenas llegue.
Manténme presente cuando esté lejos.

En las noches oscuras, acobija-te
con mi recuerdo. La memoria
nos hará sus hijos predilectos.
Llénate de este sentimiento,
como yo me lleno contigo
en el pensamiento.

Quiéreme mientras te quieres.
Ahógate en el placer de mis besos.
Imaginame al lado tuyo,
el momento es eterno.
Núnca olvides que esto es perfecto.

Quiéreme mientras te quiero,
que yo me quiero queriéndote.
Mantén la llama que fluye, ardiendo.
Haré lo mismo, no perdamos tiempo.