the momentssss

where it's well you don't

know what to say exactly those big ass eyes

all awkward and maybe too much

anxious you sigh you edit you drink

some chocolate coffee shit and outside

you wait for a car, feel helped, and friend loved,

and you miss your brother, and you know

a deadline and it's pressing you -

so when that comes

just release that talent

and that patience

and know it may be in the corner of you somewhere

that extra conversation

or that extra insight

or line break.

maybe in the right thumbnail,

maybe in the weird tip of your nose.

but always look for it.

collaborative poem by K.P., C.S., C.T., B.P., N.K., C.S., M.K., and others, at Public House

why are there monkeys in my wheat bread?

Monkeys don’t eat wheat.

where nose hair has no place, this breathe we

one tempt block with a lack of emphasis

pressure mounts, I am afraid to decide

1, 2, 3, @4, my name is free:

named after no one but maybe not many

people. At least not many people that matter.

I turn young and every goddamn woman

stronger than me holds trophies above

me, relaxing as if they must, helplessly!

and the cup/guy remains swathed and somewhat

tangible, my body soft enough to drive a knife

through. Too many monkeys in the way

around in === OK OK OK

if we are armed we are change of relation

right? And this includes several monkees who

are not yet in the wheat. Not yet.

The knives are moving closer, the dips in

the coast, our cancerous coast. Ten years to

slash to five, steel fellas in the tooth –

(copy, clip, clap) Come closer

“Monkey Revolution”, the first one in space was a squirrel monkey

named Baker.

after those poets I just met who write very differently from me

a poet,

never wrote in New York but went to

Chicago today bought some poems

off a man for a dollar

which decreased my currency

to where I now have

27 dollars in all to my name.

just found him on facebook though

was I hustled? I don’t know

the end rhymes banged me over the head

for a while. it was still good shit,

true shit, give-a-dollar shit,

cause the wind wasn’t getting any better

even if it was just

40 degrees in January in Chicago.

maybe more than food

people need support.

but nah.

that dollar prolly got him some candy

or a burger at Mcdonalds.

you try to do some good every now

and then.

Zodiac Darius Re-Mix: Leo

garnishes? gifts. GARLANDS of gratitudes and for what? Embolden others'

affections for you by deposit after deposit after quip after every positively

unnecessary vocalized breath! A pause is not just for the stalled engine,

must quickly get to the next engagement and when was the last time you

asked ME a question? Of whether or not I was allergic to that Thai dish

you make every Wednesday for an even weaker group of weeping "peeps".

Holding your soul like a whelpless homeless man holds his hat out, far enough

away so he doesn't have to count or smell his earnings, if he had any that day.

i feel a little better now

the things that make us happy,

food and money,

mostly void, symbols.

it’s all greek to us, these bodies.

what it asks for

illogical

what I depress and repress

comes out in a café

after my phone told me

im overdrawn.

the feelings leak along my edges.

crawl and make coffee rings

skate even though

it’s an iceless winter.

Tits, I mean.

I saw someone on their laptop looking at my okcupid profile and they kept flipping between my answers on sexual matters and my four to five photos of me having fun and laughing with friends and one with me smiling real cute like. Then he switched to a girl with the opposite color hair and flipped between questions she answered about her personality and another girl whose profile photo was entirely her breasts.

Tits, I mean.

-J. R.

Piece

I dreamt of you the other night, dancing, swaying on the
horizon________________________________________
graceful. Your marble feet, peach pink, never touching the Earth.
Your silken sundress, blowing with each twist and pirouette, flowing, shining and glistening off the cosmic Moon that constantly encircled your head with each dip and swerve; the way the sun shines like halo behind each saint, and how it refected -like water, streams, brooks- and in turn, becoming those same streams, seaming infinitly.
Swaying, turning , prancing -those streams- Still Dancing.
Only your toes come in to contact with matter.
Liquid. Causing the same ripplesthe feather of a baby doves would cause on those still streams. Still, Dancing.
The dew of the grass glistened like a mirror glistens when it reflected the stars back in to that night sky. And as your locks whipped as strands of satin in the heavens , the tips gave birth to more dewy stars. And they shot. And they showered all around you. Each one, a wish; a wish I would never have to make, because you held me.
I sat like a child, crosslegged, in your palm, in awe-struck wonderment. And you never looked away from me. You wore a smile. A small smile brighter than any supernova exploding. Still dancing.

-MViramontes