Blog Archives
My Love for you is Burnin (2010)
My love for you is burnin
Like Paris is burnin
New York burnin
New hope burnin
Flowers are burnin
Life is burnin Read the rest of this entry
Like Winter Snow (2008)
Your love is cold like winter snow
Emotions that never ripened
What’s in that dark heart no one knows
Only that you seem frightened Read the rest of this entry
Immortal Orgy (1994)
Let us forget about the
insolence of human nature.
tonight you shall take
my hand and
come –
with me – Read the rest of this entry
You Come Singing (2011)
As the tenderness
of my once thriving heart
drowns in an arid abyss of reason
here you come singing –
singing your songs of love
songs of unbridled passion
songs like the songs of my Muse
songs soaring above sorrow
stimulating surreal sensations
swaying sweet serenades in my spirit Read the rest of this entry
Djembe
Bill has been on the block since Vietnam, and has seen it go from White to Brown. He grew up across town, in a one-bedroom with his mother, when Bergenline was still Italian. He saw the first wave of Cubans come in the late 60’s, and felt right away this meant trouble. He watched as the Marielitas turned the town Brown in the 80’s, while the Italian exodus moved west to the burbs along route 3, where it was still White. But Bill refused to leave. He was a Veteran and the only thing he knew how to do was to stay and fight for what was his. At least that’s what he likes to tell people. Read the rest of this entry
The Island of Refugio Bautista
The sun rises over the drought stricken hills hovering Los Pinos Del Eden, a small farming town borne from the shadows of La Descubierta, Dominican Republic, where Refugio, climbing out his mosquito net, has just wakened from reminiscent dreams of New York City, fantasizing about the corner of 8th Ave and 6th, eating two Papaya hotdogs with sweet onions, ketchup and a piña colada. It’s a bustling New York Saturday night. Fast motorcycles line the Avenue. Women in tight shorts and fat asses walk to Club Bad. The incense man across the street peddles fragrances and who knows what else. Old vinyl records spread across the sidewalk are looking for a home. Refugio is walking tall in tight leather pants, motorcycle jacket, dark shades, five o’clock shadow and mohawk. His Harley is pulled up beside five pimp’d out street bikes. He climbs on his hog, revs the throttle, and shoots north up 6Th Ave toward Washington Heights.
Judgements & Misconceptions
It’s about 6:15 in the morning. You’re drunk and you’re high. And you’re in Chicago. You’ve just stumbled out of some club. Somewhere. You can’t really remember. And you wobble on down to the corner, scanning the streets around you.
You reach out your slumbering arm to hail the first cab you see. He pretends not to see you. But you don’t think anything of it. Again, you reach out. Again, another cab passes and again and again and again.
And you know your neon red jacket is glowing majestic sparkles off the rising sun, so it’s impossible for them not to have noticed you standing there all shiny and shit; your shades silvery cool like mirrors reflecting Jim Morrison before he became fat and sloppy. Read the rest of this entry
Wilson Santos 