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. 

UN AMOR VIOLENTO [POR LOS TRES] ES LO QUE QUIERO

-¿Alguna vez te has emborrachado de alguien?
¿Has estado tan empapado que entripas
todos los lados, con tu sonrisa?
¿Alguna vez has explotado de amor?
¿Te ha pasado que cualquier repercusión,
a tu alrededor los sonidos se nublan,
las luces se ponen a favor,
una realidad comienza a desaparecer?
Y, aunque saliste con la intención,
nunca viste el amanecer;
pues el sol no se ha puesto.

¿Has sentido una sed tan inmensa,
que le chupas el nectar a cualquier
pelea sabrosa, hasta más no poder?

[TUS GRITOS SON POR LO QUE VIVO
TÍRAME CONTRA EL PISO
ESTO NO TIENE SENTIDO
TE AMO TE AMO, OK?!]

¿Y la sucrosa pegajosa, de ese ron con coca
que tan fríamente baja a tu estomago
después de pal' de palos
no tiene efecto, pues nada te pone mas al inverso
que un amor violento? 

-No.
-Yo tampoco.

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. 

drink poetry

i'm gonna drink myself until poetry tonight.
chug chug chug and from the tips of my toes
comes a signal of flow, let the words melt
in verses, reverse this, i'll become poetry
with an blood alcohol level of one point three,
i'm gonna drink myself until poetry tonight,
stumbling though my fingertips, blurring into the night.
morphing into something more
making out with the first boy that buys me a drink
at the club. i'm gonna drink myself until poetry tonight.
slurring emotions mixed with poisons taken in excess.
take a moment in the bathroom to puke it all midway.
i'm gonna drink myself until poetry tonight and deal
with a love ridden hangover when i get it.

Feli Lunes # 5432154

Nueva York Tiene Todos Estos Vicios

No tengo weed. Llamen a los refuerzos

te recuerdo que esto tiene que ser en verso

escribo, pero no respiro

inhalo pero no exhalo

aquí todo me da frío. 

y pierdo a veces el hilo. 

Nueva York tiene todos estos vicios

no inicio

ningún tipo de lio,
eso de problemas no es lo mío,

aquí todo es melaza,

tranquilo

escucha el silbido de la noche. 

Las luces y los troces

se esfuman entre voces

y te olvidas por un momento que estas entre

billones, que entran y salen de esta ciudad,

de todos los rincones le llegan

a mi "melting pot"

where can I find a dealer?

'perate, que se me chueca el filo.

hay que escribir pa' ver si pega

en algún sitio.

sacarlo por los dedos

dejarlo por todo el piso.

sin filo, te corto hasta 

los tornillos

esos que te faltan,

viviendo entre tanta basofia,

entre tanta historia,
entre tanta memoria,
que importa si---

Nueva York tiene todos estos vicios. 

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.

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.

instagram

este es mi dilemma con instagram:

que belleza la pureza de ver todo

lo que a mis amigos rodea.
Amigos, cibernéticas, o de donde sea.

instagram le mete cuando

me ensaña vistas algaretes,

o hasta lo surreal. pero de vez en cuando

amanece una foto que no la hace.

y me lo tengo que chupar.

un célfi me demuestra una mujer bien apuesta

es ella con recorte nuevo. y yo en pleno des-apogeo

nunca pensé que iba a ponerse más hermosa. pero ahi está.

42 likes y los que falten, no importante la constante,
ahi esta. ella. este es mi dilemma con instagram.
ni importa cuan lejos este, su contenido va presente.

y me lo tengo que chupar.

 

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.

naked

it starts by removing all jewelry.

[it starts by removing all jealousy]
it follows by taking off the blouse.

[it follows by taking off the pride]
and in the same pattern, 

[and for that matter]

free yourself from pants.

[free yourself of the past]
now unhinge the bra.

[now unhinge the soul]

ever.so.gently.

[ever.so.slightly]
slip down those panties

[slip down those fears]

Continue by laying in bed.

[Continue by risking it all]

here we are.

naked. 

what shall we play now?

Una vez más entre mis brazos

¿cómo se siente estar en mis brazos?

me pregunto, a ver si en un segundo

me dices como se siente tener el mundo

en tu regazo.

yo la tenia a ella en mis brazos.
entre tantos suspiros, le susurre al oído

un "te amo", pero ella no lo escuchó.
en algún quinto sue~o andaba.
y yo admiraba aquella vista que poesía creaba.

su cara, tranquila, brillaba con la luz que entraba

por debajo de la puerta, En una encuesta me preguntaron

si creía en algo más fuerte que yo. "Este sentimiento. 

eso creo yo". y por ahí seguí explorando.

Su piel, más suave que papel "Charmin", 

me tentaba con el sube y baja de su respiración.

Contemplación, de lo que aquel roce de manos significaba.

Aquí, postrada en mi cama, andaba diciéndole más 

de lo que quería; Ay! de estas ansias por devorarla.

¿Cómo se siente estar en mis brazos?

porque tenerte es divino. Ay de este corazón intranquilo!

a ver cuando es que entenderé que no todo paraíso
es como el que yo imaginaba. 

"and i always thought the people you dated were dumbasses"

turns out I was one of those that got high hopes,
Dream big, fall hard, get up, do it again.
i was talking to the mother of my dead friend the other day.

[reality doesn't exist.] We concluded,
since this world is so dilluted,
A few seconds of lag between chat chirps
from Paris
To Brooklyn,
can make a life become deconstructed.

I type here. You see there. 5 seconds later because
tellecommunications
tends to control a lot of this made up time of ours.

There is nothing real.
And I always thought the people you dated were dumbasses
until i became one of those that falls too hard for the wrong thing.
Maybe it's
all some
sort of scheme.

I lose quality of my film by ganking off youtube.
and maybe I'm a dumbass that fell for you
in a reality that doesn't exist.

oh how this world is dilluted.
I'm one of those dumbasses that
falls for the guilt of you.

te(chnology)quiero

if tumblr could express

what it feels like to be in 

[the same space,]

kissing ever so gently,

your face,

if every post on tumblr

 i

could feel 

like your embrace,

the kind that heightens

the heart rate,

ending in the shower,

some sort of passionate haze,

don't feel scared if I sound irate,

this is just another one 

of my plays

[with words.]

if a facebook like could tell you

all the things that in my heart you enable,

with your presence. hide all the notifications

of your eyes, in essence, you are trending

all over my wall, and I don't want to sound

appalled, but Zuckerburg can suck

on his relationship status quo.

"Mark as read, I do not want to read any more

from this comment."

now now, don't hurry,

this is not a race.

a lover's internal quarrels,

tend to leave a good taste.

now if i by posting this

i make some sort of headway,

i guess i'm not the only one 

wondering,

"if i like it, will she know that i thought it for her,

or will she wonder who i'm truly liking it for." 

Tan pronto te fuiste

As soon as you left, walked out the door
of my apartment/dorm
I took the liberty of making the bed,
we made and un made,
in a previous night/weekend of fury.
You went on your way:

[-to catch a bus,
-or an M train
-back to school,
-head to work,
-find apartments
-meet a friend
-grab some drinks]

{sometimesilosecountoftheways
 that you manage to weave
 i n a n d o u t o f m y l i f e.}

I proceeded to wash my face,
rid myself from your taste,
but a strand of your hair

[-curly,
-long
-short
-black
-purple
-castaño.]

A distracted me, decided to scrub away.
Get on my knees, and fabuloso the shit out of
 the shower you just took.
A misplaced bobby pin took me
to the back of your neck a n d

As soon as you left,
I took the liberty of baptising a new era.
the one that will end when you come back
to leave again.

As soon as you left:

[-Santurce
-Guaynabo
-Brooklyn
-Guashington
-Manhattan
-Syracuse
-Boston
-Madrid]

I get the urge to wash away.  All that lingers. The smell of your tingles.
I proceed to expurgate, all that is left,
as soon as you left.

Pecas.

tu que pecas por mis pecas,
cuéntame, ¿de qué están compuestas?
Son acaso chispas de un sol caribeño
que quema. Que mucho quemas.

tu que pecas por mi pecas,
cuéntame, ¿de qué están echas?

Son acaso rostros de noches abatiendo

la cama, en vela. Que nochesitas las nuestras.

tu que pecas por mis pecas,
cuéntame, ¿qué tanto te atrae a ellas?
Son acaso evidencia de amor,
de playeo incesante,tu y yo

en perfecta brisa y marea.

tu que pecas por mis pecas,
cuéntame, ¿qué ves en ellas?

Porque yo no le veo ningún encanto.
Sonblock mal usado, testigo de  los años

y los que me restan, pecando.

Sleeping with exes

I.
Pick the deepest,
dirtiest,
scab.
and just rip it.
Now watch the skin
get put back together.

II.
exes: because who doesn't love
the nothingness in the morning.

III.
It feels the same.
It tastes the same.
The kiss, the same.
The touch, the same.
But, I mean, it's not the same.

IV.
I'm sure this time will be different
than the other "last times".

V.
"This is closure...right?"

VI.
Maybe if we try the same positions we'll get the feeling
we had before.

VII.
Maybe if we try different positions I forget we ever had a
before.

VIII.
Ok. This is the last time. I swear.

IX.
Because I like to remember who I was before you broke me.

X.
Because maybe if we do it enough times it'll become monotonous,
like we became, and you'll dump it too.

XI.
Because "some memory" is better than
no memory. At all.

XII.
"I can't come with anyone else."

XIII.
Because of the way my name rolls off
the toun
             gue.

XIV.
It's just physical. Or somewhat critical
to the heart's health. So you do it.

XV.
Because you know you won't be with them again.
And you want to preserve as much as you can get,
even if it's just
lousy sex.

XVI.
Ultimately, there's no justification
to this annihilation
of
self respect.

Lista de cosas que extravie en su apartamento

• jacket negro, talla small 
• jacket gris, talla medium
• camisa de flores, casi transparente
• sombrero azul marino marca Neff
• bolsa de tabaco semi vacia
• el amor en el 2010
• el amor en el 2012
• mil y un "perdon".
• un beso borracho en la cocina. 
• mi virginidad
• mi dignidad
• mi querida
• mi locura, y por consecuencia
• mi cordura.
• Perdí mi musa

a ver quien las recoge. 

Every now and then

Every now and then I have the blessing of feeling like shit.
Yes. I get to do things like fuck my ex and and send a good morning text
to someone that's 1,200 miles away, with a smile on my face.
Consciously accepting that I just fell into a trap again.
The trap in which I lie to myself that I'm over my ex and
totally into this other person. But neither. Or.

I get to feel, what it's like to not feel loved or loving.
I destroy all that is coming. I take my way and shove it,
up my own ass. Ain't that one heck of a blast?
My own emotional enema to rid myself of all this crap.

Every now and then, I have the blessing of realizing my mistakes,
and taking it all as it may, and feel sad, in a certain way.
And understand that this is all a series of processess on processes
And all that is left is "moving forward".

Move ahead. Get away, enjoy what is left. See,
every now and then, I get to not give a fuck
about you, or my heart, and fall back into this trap again.
Until the moment where I forget, that you are there.

Every now and then
I am bare.

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.