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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD: April 2009

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G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Wednesday, April 29, 2009. My Father’s Seed Has Spilt atop My Fist. By the time the feet stagger, the wall has surrendered its stars. And all its salt, and the eyes have squeezed out several thousand. Miserable things, which like tall sentinels have amassed. On the floorboards and nails to watch me. Put my fist through shit, disassemble, grunt—. As my father has done,. As his father had done,. As all the men of my family have done. Links to this post. Subscribe to: Posts (Atom).

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD: February 2010

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G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Saturday, February 20, 2010. There were ice chests to lift and muscles to grapple with. Cliffs as well. Men stream, muscles and haloes,. And blur. Horseshoes and triceps. Muscles that knot. In August, the white ball above, a furious blot plot. High, will shimmer enough as to cause. The emerald to soon lose half its volume. On boats tethered together like dogs out for a stroll,. Men blur. Boats stall. Gyrations, hollering, inebriations. Locking mouths together as underfed fish to hooks,.

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD: November 2009

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G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Wednesday, November 25, 2009. This morning’s chorizo blackens,. And these eyelids haven’t even slid open. Enough to admonish the date-. In the shower, the milk has soured. The soap hardens in the cold. December isn’t too far off. Fantastically, the steam lifts me. To a world of clouds,. Wisps and tatters and heavenly shit,. And I climax enthusiastically with images. Of you and a younger version of me. Trekking among these clouds,. Away from these splintery walls. You’d likely say.

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD

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G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Friday, February 12, 2010. Sleepy and the Rock, 1993. A memory I lost but now have found. 8220;See this rock.” Perched between stout fingers,. A homeboy shows off the rock, and I check the shit out. Like it’s fucking magic what he holds in the. Sandpaper that is a hand. 8220;This rock ain’t shit,” he goes. 8220;Til I put my arm behind it, guey. And then, shit, watcha. Watch what this little bitch can do.”. Intrigue flutters. Wild, gilded eyes. Torpedoing and a soft whistle. This shit m...

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD

http://godblessthedead.blogspot.com/2010/02/hanging-bed-sheets-that-man-youre.html

G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Monday, February 15, 2010. That man you’re fighting with,. While you’re tugging shoestrings. Off the skinny clotheslines of a trailer park childhood. And peculiarity bloats the. Beneath the cackle of splintery electric poles and. Tweaked-out Clowns swapping bumps, beneath stars. That droop like bolts of sweat,. You’re pinching salt near eyelids and. Sponging boot prints off your cheek, and. Haphazardly, the man inside me is wiping. Scuff marks from floorboards. Low-Low and Colchon, 2005.

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD

http://godblessthedead.blogspot.com/2010/03/how-i-came-to-be-down-there-is-altar.html

G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Saturday, March 20, 2010. How I Came to Be Down. There is an altar standing in a hallway. It’s him. Surrounded by Virgencitas and. At dinner, Big Sleepy was kind and spoke. Of a book we both had read. A book I knew. From school. Farmworkers and pesticides. And peaches, laying together on floorboards,. Two bodies “clasped together like hands in prayer,”. Guarded by the glovebox. He’s known for almost as long as I’ve been alive,. Allows his brows to reveal his consternation. Hlqb s smt yx.

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD: October 2009

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G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Saturday, October 31, 2009. Saliva to Thread, Sternum, and Scalp. An escapulario has snapped;. Kneeling, fingers fumble,. Fuse the broken thread. Traffic lights do not wait;. Midday, a sedulous task:. A tallboy and lotto;. PikNik doors swing shut and. Open in unwitting applause;. I could offer the young vato. What I have around my. He will soon find saliva. I could offer homeboy. A hand, the repose of a. Vato’s shoulder,. Trucha, homito. looking at me. Like that, you already know.

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD: September 2009

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G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Sunday, September 06, 2009. Notes on Manteca and Fists. It’s the flight of a beer can. The trajectory of a half-consumed Miller Lite. Witnessing this shit, I am six. I am spineless and sick. A beer can cutting through air. Bird-like. Irretrievably launched. All silvery white and streaked boldly with gold and black. These beer cans are rockets and starships. The aluminum—I can smell it. An intoxicated, furious flight of a beer can. A beer can in full flight. I am six years old. At the e...

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD

http://godblessthedead.blogspot.com/2010/02/men-blur-there-were-ice-chests-to-lift.html

G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Saturday, February 20, 2010. There were ice chests to lift and muscles to grapple with. Cliffs as well. Men stream, muscles and haloes,. And blur. Horseshoes and triceps. Muscles that knot. In August, the white ball above, a furious blot plot. High, will shimmer enough as to cause. The emerald to soon lose half its volume. On boats tethered together like dogs out for a stroll,. Men blur. Boats stall. Gyrations, hollering, inebriations. Locking mouths together as underfed fish to hooks,.

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G0d bl3$$ the DeaD: December 2009

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G0d bl3$ the DeaD. Thursday, December 24, 2009. What is crime, I ask. What is punishable if unavoidable, you go. Say the man is twenty-nine. Or twenty-five, but looks moth-eaten,. Cheeks as sawtoothed as cliffs. Say he is six foot two. Say he is car-less and comfortless. And that explains his females,. Say his arms have gone black,. Intricate twists and helixes where. Needles have pricked and poked him. Say his eyes are starved. Say his eyes are illiterate, his lungs rash. From a window, I watch. My fath...