haiku
in chicago back again: notions ii-iii.
notion ii.
and jump right on in
to wherever one may crash.
time is running out.
08.16.2005.
notion iii.
and all the distractions
remove one from earth
from all the other
bodies of masses.
stones rolling along
searching for truth
or a sensation of meaning
in a land
where everything’s obtained
through money.
08.16.2005.
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on a plane from atlanta to chicago: notions 136-138.
notion 136.
and when i get home,
i’ll be looking for a place
to rest this tired heart.
08.15.2005.
notion 137.
one day we will be
in a better place for us.
no need for a box.
08.15.2005.
notion 138.
i did not
want my
secrets and
thoughts
to consume me,
so i wrote
them down,
but my poetry
is dead,
and only YOU
can change
the world.
08.15.2005.
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in guadalajara: notions 107-109.
notion 107.
my father tends to laugh at me
or look away, elsewhere,
when i speak of politics,
and use my hands to explain,
but where does he think
i get it from?
and i think he
might be proud
or feels some pride
when my uncles ask for me
to discuss politics and philosophy.
08.15.2005.
notion 108.
new
independent
alternative
rebellious
voices
will arise.
08.15.2005.
notion 109.
will we fuck them up
when we send them off to roam,
free to make choices?
08.15.2005.
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in san cristobal de las casas: notions 95-98.
notion 95.
this letter,
which may go on
forever
because words erupt
from me,
and the hand moves
so freely
as if my thoughts
flew
before me.
08.11.2005.
notion 96.
let us go to sleep.
tomorrow will soon arrive
without a warning.
08.11.2005.
notion 97.
fire and flames.
energy flowing,
and the universe
expanding.
08.11.2005.
notion 98.
vamonos pues,
a repartir charola,
a todos igual.
08.11.2005.
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in san cristobal de las casas: notions 91-92.
notion 91.
how i’d like to meet
the person that makes sushi
here in chiapas.
08.10.2005.
notion 92.
i’m not just a teacher.
i am still searching,
and am still learning.
i know so much less
than i could even imagine.
i am your humble servant,
but i am not a slave.
i’m not just a teacher
though i’m a member of the union.
the state doesn’t own me.
the state doesn’t own us,
and we dictate how society goes,
or at least should,
so how have we allowed it
to have gotten so far,
out of control.
and i’ve only been here
for a little bit
over a quarter of a century,
and will not settle
into being content
with a middle class slavery.
08.10.2005.
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in san cristobal de las casas: notions 85-86.
notion 85.
buenas vibras,
aquí todo es leve,
hermanos relax.
08.10.2005.
notion 86.
so i thought i’d write a sonnet just cause
i’m of ideas of eternity,
way past beyond the sense of human laws,
and at some point, i’ll finally be free.
in my country, it was hard to find me,
had to leave the chaos and confusion
cause all that noise was simply distracting.
i yearned independent disposition.
thus then travel unraveled some secrets,
our third became open to see way past,
letting go of our shared ancient regrets.
all blurred towards a future which will pass.
so why the fuck then are you so worried
when we’re not part in the story in (his)tory?
08.10.2005.
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36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond. p.4
36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond.
the wheels rotating
then going out of control
stampeding the rest.
stampeding the rest,
over the rest of the world.
too late to stop now.
to late to stop now,
this is how it’s always been.
no one changes things.
no one changes things
because either no one cares
or has enough time.
or has enough time,
so that all that is known is
never really known.
never really known,
everyone’s a shadow
quickly passing by.
quickly passing by
no one is meant to stay long
cherishing people.
cherishing people
offers temporary hope and
and optimism.
and optimism
matters little when cup is
completely empty.
02.03-12.20.04.
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36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond. p.3
36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond. p.3
a message sent in,
an alien satellite
requesting return.
requesting return
to an island to escape
to rest my tired bones.
to rest my tired bones,
remove this feeling of pain
to be left alone.
to be left alone,
an opening universe
awaits by the dark.
awaits by the dark,
silent whisper of murder
calling dreams to rest.
calling dreams to rest
so that consciousness can rest
with eternity.
with eternity,
one should always roam and not
amongst the simple.
amongst the simple,
the burden becomes too great
till nothing matters.
till nothing matters
and burnt out like a candle,
the wheels rotating.
02.03-12.20.04.
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36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond. p.2
36 haiku on suicide and the disappearing pond. p.2
and pulls the trigger,
scraping off time’s memory,
peeling mental scabs.
peeling mental scabs,
red begins to overflow-
pain all in my head.
pain all in my head,
creates chaos, confusion
when asked, why i choose.
when asked, why i choose
to live apart? i reply,
to keep myself sane.
to keep myself sane,
some secrets can’t be revealed.
how much can one share?
how much can one share
before feeling invaded?
please, just let me leave.
please, just let me leave,
fading energy rising
desire to give up.
desire to give up
and a need for migration,
returning to space.
returning to space
towards a feeling of home-
a message sent in.
02.03-12.20.04.
UP!::urban po'E.Tree(s) 