Feb. 21st, 2022

  • 5:13 PM


completed projects
Insights and Vagaries
, my first book of Poetry

what i'm actually working on
for whom they toll | revised 29/02
great teacher uzumaki | updated 13/02

things that may get worked on

that great damn bear
hasten to drown
a feast of ashes
cities of the dead

Sep. 26th, 2016

  • 10:24 PM
pridefall: (Only Data Streams | Tron)
"si, ojos son ventanas,"

i have never been complimented in my life,
for the things that make me Puerto Rican
(whatever they might be) siempre es:
"Ay, que ojos claros tan lindos," or:
"Man, you speak English so well, Iansito,
I can't even tell you have an accent at all,"
like an ascent into gringo was something i chose,
and not a Catholic death-sentence; Iansito como para
no decirme Juan, como para no decir Francisco;
(half my family comes from slaves, and the other
conquistadors) so my identity has always been in the diminutive--
Ian SI tienes que aceptar que TODOS somo puertorriqueño,
and even tho your dad can't float (which is a racist joke, i know)
no part of our family tree has negroes on its branches;
but my grandmother proved in her thesis that the ROOTS of the word "ROLON,"
come from slaves and peasants, and present day
i am presently sick of my face being colonized by:
clear green eyes and a jawline Clark Kent would die for;
en este poema yo soy un YO escondido entre un como-se-dice,
entre un como se-llama sin ofenderla a nadie este
nigga on the inside but still born and raised light-skinneded, like
my moms forgot all the shit her ma put her through for not bein
white skinned; truth be told:
I was born with blue eyes and that Hector Lavoe complexion,
but like every good sobrino, i let Tia Dalma kiss me often,
love her too much, and too hard, to ever let it stick;
so ahora, como las pecas de mis hermanas:
you only see Africa in me when the sun's just right,
and though these green eyes change color at every time of day;
ya'll know i rep to death that real magic in Puerto Rico
only comes at night.

Sep. 20th, 2016

  • 6:15 PM
pridefall: (the fox with no hound | Gin)
 listen, they're lying when they say
there ain't no time like the present
because, truth is? 
Christmas came 'round every day
this year
right around the time i stopped
giving a fuck about

Sep. 5th, 2016

  • 11:08 PM
pridefall: (an atheist in hell | John Constantine)
the days we fell in love // the days we broke apart


Aug. 23rd, 2016

  • 12:20 AM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
all the poetry in a world won't ever:
make someone love you, or
erase what they did to you, or
change the world we live, or
make sad things good again, or
have you hurt less again, or
be whole again, see all of you:
shine bright again,
because people aren't stars
or dust, or universes
in the end:
we're all just bastards,
each of us hoping we don't
fuck with the wrong person.

- "it's 3am i'm tired of crying and poetry is useless to me,"

Aug. 21st, 2016

  • 3:34 AM
pridefall: (the fox with no hound | Gin)
- "i call it the downward climb,"

Aug. 19th, 2016

  • 10:08 PM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
i came to you a shattered wreck,
more skeleton than home;
my life not just a fixer-upper,
but a graveyard shift
me, vessel long lost abandoned;
and me: heart like an anchor,
moored too long, too sure
that no hands could carve out something proper-like
from wood so rotted to its core;
and though you did not fix me,
your kindness is a house on fire,
that saves everyone it touches differently;
i came to you filled with patchwork,
and shoddy craftsmanship;
but madrigal, you took these hands,
kissed their palms a benediction, and said:
“no one lost ever went wanting
for the promise of a roof over their head,”
like even broken i could still be enough;
that i was more than enough;
we could be more than enough;
more than just or just or just;
i am a house with too much of too little
and you are not a memory or transient;
to you i am not: too many broken windows,
too many unhinged doors, too few beds,
not enough to go around, just dust
just the remnants of a hurricane
howling lonely, terror, love-filled; lost
like toys left bereft of owners who have
grown too old, too soon; we so fast
to remember that yesterday is just tomorrow,
a today that came and went,
and present tense:
i am to you a place of rest,
and shelter from the storm;
when you draw near, I shake
down to the very timbers of my being:
your gentleness is a housefire, an anchor,
and i: skeletal remains still breathing smoke–
but, still: i am breathing;
but. still. i am breathing; love,
my soul yet still creaks with floodwaters,
and i know that i am yet filled with ghosts;
to me, in this: you are not a carpenter,
and i am not yet a house or home;
but, every day i live, I promise you
i will try to give them to you both.

- Mathew 7:24-27

May. 16th, 2016

  • 5:10 PM
pridefall: (the fox with no hound | Gin)
 no me hables,“
is such an interesting phrase to me
–and truth be told, 
to me Spanish holds far more nuance 
than gringo English ever could–
but, I digress;
I think "no me hables,” is so powerful;
used so infrequent, more a joke
than the phrase it translates,
because in the end:
“no me hables” could mean anything
literally anything between:
“don’t talk to me anymore,” and:
“to you, I do not exist.

“spanish dichotomies get stuck in your throat, sometimes."

May. 8th, 2016

  • 11:13 PM
pridefall: (an atheist in hell | John Constantine)
 "dios te bendiga, porque yo no podria," a poem to my mother.
(warnings for child abuse.)
my mother almost broke my elbow, once
and honestly i should've seen it coming.
never liked the way i ran my mouth so much,
and on a hunch i'll say i get that from my father
he the man she always called when single mother
became less a badge of honor and more
"Que dios te bendiga, hijo--poque yo no podria,"
so there: crash went the phone receiver, this
just fuck-off huge stereotype, holdover from a time 
when calling someone meant a little bit more thought;
she aimed for my head and got my arm instead,
and no, there ain't no scar--but she hit it so hard 
three elves came out my ass screaming:
snap, crackle, pop; me standing there like:
did she just really--
and i'm not going into details just for pity, folks
(nah, that's what therapy is for)
but i do want you to imagine this for me:
you're five years old, both parents divorced, 
and though you're smart enough to know what that means;
no one tells you abuse can lack force.
growing up, all I wanted to be was a dinosaur hunter.
i played games like Turok and Dragon's Quest young,
and internalized heroism as facing down fire and teeth.
my mother taught me similar lessons, sometimes;
bequeathed to me a thousand-thousand sermons of:
"Desgraciado. Inituil. Imbecil. Moron. Te lo juro por Dios,
el mas sagrado, mas un rayo me parta, jodio cabron;"
every verse an inheritance, a repetition of a chorus
she herself had spent years singing; had internalized, 
memorizing them so deep to the bone that: 
the only way i ever came to know her mother, 
my grandmother, whose name I can't even remember;
was not through stories about the woman, never how:
our hands were the same, how she married young,
how difficult it must have been for her, a racist
to raise three children when only one of them
was not stained through to the soul; I weep-- 
not for never having known this woman, no;
but instead how her ghost haunted my mother,
kept her in both this world and the past,
and robbed me of knowing the both of them
as more than a legacy of scars.
so, why am I writing this? why bring up old wounds?
it's because my mother was not always a maelstrom;
not Kali by way of Hera, Ishtar, and Salome,
wrath the fire of her hearth, the shape of her tongue;
there were times she went hungry for me, times: 
i had and she did not, would not; she chose:
what she now calls unhappiness, a sacrifice
to give me a better life than she had, could have
ours the usual story: 
a poor family one paycheck from food-stamps, 
no father, divorced, too little time together; 
a son who honestly could have tried harder,
his mother turning: minimum wage, no college degree,
a herniated back, miscarriage, broken knee, 
metal everywhere inside her; a divorce, 
missed alimony and child support:
taking all that and every month still,
she still somehow pulled off more
goddamned miracles than Jesus himself,
and with less to her name;
show me where in the script anyone could've done better,
and i'll still stand by her like a missed Oscar nomination;
so, let me break this shit down for you so 
almost-broke bones don't dominate the conversation
these days we might not talk as much, but
I still rep the Romero at the end of my name;
R to the O to the M to the E like
I know this city I am wasn't built in a day;
it took nine months, twenty-one years to Machiavelli it,
and here I am now, bruised, scarred, but not bowed;
a proud inheritor of a firestorm legacy,
saying my mom might not have raised me best,
but she made sure I'll never forget how.

May. 8th, 2016

  • 11:12 PM
pridefall: (Truest Words Ever Spoken | Anis Mojgani)
 Happy Day After Mother's Day, ya'll.
(we celebrate our survival today)
And to those of you who have lost,
or never known love of that kind:
come close, lay your hand on mine
and listen:
today, family is what you make of it.
and blood never worth more than life.
please do not spend time chasing ghosts.
there is nothing for you in that place,
and doubly-so if you've escaped it.
please, listen:
there is too much in this world, so much more
than scar tissue and flinching at raised hands,
broom handles, wooden spoons, chancletas;
let your house this day be no warzone,
and violence nothing more than bittersweet.
please. Remember this:
love does not begin at conception,
and raising up yourself
is anything but immaculate.
today, you are messy, and loud, and elbows;
unwashed dishes and unswept floors;
you are your mistakes, 
but not how they define you;
today, and ever hereafter
know that you are loved, and wanted, 
and if ever you should doubt this fact:
just know that i too have known your struggle,
and thus name today a national holiday,
to honor those so many good mothers
touched one day,
and forgot.
please, listen to me
and do not stop repeating:
you are loved, you are loved,
you are loved, you are loved,
you are loved, you are loved,
you are loved, you are loved,
you are loved.
- "5/8/2010," (or: the day i learned grendel is the hero of the story.)

Apr. 21st, 2016

  • 12:23 AM
pridefall: (an atheist in hell | John Constantine)
pecas might not rhyme with pecado
pero ay virgen, oh lordie lordie lord--
i am but a humble man of god.

Apr. 21st, 2016

  • 12:14 AM
pridefall: (ye shall be made to know me | Lezard)
 and i would bite down the moon for you
not silver soft sweet tickling vertebra
but the harsh off-white of a car-crash;
i would break bones like kindling, like floorboards
like every stick, stone, and cruelty
we said could never hurt us more than: 
to see the fire in your eyes never go out,
i will howl mad at the stars, i will
shove finger, tooth, and tongue
into the dark of your universe
just to pull out every star you refuse to see;
be an inferno with me, be a forest blaze;
i am a jackal driven mad of want for flesh,
of bleached bone left cooked in the sirocco,
and in your rib-cage i see a whirlwind, a hurricane
a human extinction event just about to 
wipe my existential crisis off the map.
-- at 3am i think of necks and holocausts.

Apr. 18th, 2016

  • 12:17 AM
pridefall: (Truest Words Ever Spoken | Anis Mojgani)
i talk to god and hope,
(most days)
she doesn’t answer me this:
cuz’ the time it takes for her to make these words
taste less like ash and more like
i’m past mistakes/like i can’t
complicate this life more than i already have, man;
me and her we ain’t spoke in so long,
and every day we don’t, it’s like
“extraños muy confiables,”
ain’t the refrain no more,
not just a stanza in the book
but the entire ‘verse;
and word is–or should I say:
“The Word” is god forgives anyone that asks;
she’s kind like that, mother-father-son-and-daughter;
a whole family waiting to love and cherish;
but like most twenty-something-year-olds
i can’t take that at face value, i can’t bank on it,
(my credit’s just that fucked, i guess)
'cuz every relationship i’ve had with authority’s been:
namely: screwed two ways from Sunday school,
so now i guess the question is:
if i put this call to voicemail,
after talking to no one but myself
does anyone here tonight think
she’ll call back to pick me up again?

i’ve called you all my life but only gotten dial-tone

Mar. 5th, 2016

  • 2:11 PM
pridefall: (Here I lay my Burdens Down | Art)
i think about highways a lot
possibly more than i should
think about all that empty stretch of road
between here and Somewhere Else
because i’ve never been fond of rainbows
and the greenest grass for me growing up
had less to do with Where I Wanted to Be
and more with Whom;
so, how many miles d'ya think it takes
before feet become stronger than an engine?
dreams more reliable than thighs?
because i’ve never met a full tank of gas i didn’t like
and the hundred-thousand miles on my Grandma’s car
is shared between three generations and sixteen years of:
“Let’s get outta here, let’s go somewhere else,”
without i think ever really asking what that means.
there are hundreds of thousands of hundreds of thousands
of miles of road in the United States
and I often wonder where these journeys we set out on
every year:
road trips, moving vans, delivery runs, family visits, medical emergencies, leaving it all behind, starting new, starting fresh
always moving forward from
to there
and i guess we all have somewhere to go, yeah?
but most towns in the Midwest are filled with ghosts
and most days, it feels like
everything east of California is desert punctuated by

— they say it’s 1000 miles to graceland

Jan. 5th, 2016

  • 9:50 PM
pridefall: (woah woah wait | Naruto)

People just don't understand:
"For better or worse, in sickness and health"
doesn't ever start at the altar.
Shouldn't, really;
The moment you let that person in
whether they be categories unknown of hurricane
or sweet summer breeze,
lemonade and Popsicle-sweet;
an ocean at war with the tide,
or the gentle caress of moonlight
where no other has ever touched you--
the word "Love" is always followed with
"You," and not "I,"
because the best love is not a calculation
it is an equation, an addition to, a change of
PEMDAS now starting with
putting someone else first before
and not because they ask, or need, or force
but because you /want/ to,
because the thought of allowing "Or Worse,"
drives you so sick with rage
you want to punch circumstance in the face
for ever thinking they could hurt
part of you you've spent lifetimes trying to find
and want to spend the rest
holding on to.

Dec. 16th, 2015

  • 10:52 PM
pridefall: (Truest Words Ever Spoken | Anis Mojgani)
two languages:
moving bodies
smiles in the dark

Dec. 8th, 2015

  • 12:46 AM
pridefall: (Only Data Streams | Tron)
to hell with once upon a time
women are all dragons
and men the knights that slay them

Dec. 8th, 2015

  • 12:44 AM
pridefall: (Truest Words Ever Spoken | Anis Mojgani)
"Don't Ever Call 'Em "Fine"

You are not broken
Broken implies there is no worth
In the topography of your scars
And that your landscape of being
Need bulldozing to birth
Something beautiful
Let me plant flowers in your bruises and show the world
That broken is the eye 
That sees shattered glass
And thinks it wasteful
I will plant roses where beauty once marred
Does not deserve another’s touch
Another’s kiss
Another’s caress
Without your say so
You are more than Yes and No
So much larger than words and fairytales
I will link dandelions through your spine
And point your northward
So that even bowed
You will realize you cannot break
You are stronger than this
Than I
The feathers in your hair are the remnants if Phoenix’s
Their bones between your teeth
For immortality has no say
In the strength of being your display
By surviving your day to day
Be proud of coming this far
I can only help push you further
Let posies blossom in the hollow of your collarbones
For every broken tract of land
You think fills you
I will excavate works of art unique to your stories
And canonize your worth for all to see
I am no holy man
But in your smile God sees
Work done six days perfected
And you are not broken
Because broken implies
Everything you have raged against being
Somehow equates
To whom you are.
Your scars are badges of honor
Hard-won from the claws of dragons
Breathe fire on all that harms you
And forge anew yourself in what
You are nuclear energy contained by flesh
Too small to ever make up your meaning
And broken is the universe that denies your beauty
The very stars pale imitations of
Every crooked smile given when blood decks the floor
In you I see a goddess of war
Poised to smite her

Dec. 8th, 2015

  • 12:31 AM
pridefall: (an atheist in hell | John Constantine)
It's like i'm a little kid again
and you're every Saturday morning
I ever looked forward to