Life Stream




Life Stream


Where do you begin in the stream of life?

It feels forever is lost inside the beauty

of impregnated words I find

between rhymes that you easily invoke-

May I love you without knowing your face

or the tone of your skin, without ever being mine?

I can love with the heat of a sun setting passion aflame

or the flapping of wings of the Adonis blue,

I can love you in my clumsiness or my grace

with every exhale casting spells in your name

and every gesture reserved just for you

through the times where you always begin

by the endless words in a stream of your life-


“I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of the hunger for life that gnaws in us all.”

― Richard Wright,






Words held inside my head ready to burst

electrified desires for a gentle ear

to listen, just listen-

What’s flying inside is ready for freedom

from a dazzled mind and uncanny thirst,

So come closer, come near

and listen, just listen-

If you do so carefully and closer to my skin

you may hear the whispers flying deep within.







Have I ever found you and then lost you again?

But moments seem distant, blurry

brainwashed emotions lingering late at night

with three glasses of red mellowing what might

a better night to be, only if I hurry

and scribble down the lines.

Have I ever lost you and then found you again?

Then here is November in Spanish noviembre,

time passes quickly and then others die

but were left behind in another life

that I won’t remember for fear of the pain.

Let me face my winters, another diciembre

then let’s celebrate yet another year

with more to remember and more to forget.

Have I ever lost you and then lost you again?







Selfish I am with the words I write-

You can read them

trace then slowly with your eyes

but will never understand.

You can give them meaning

but it will be all lies

for they are mine alone.

Sure, they may look like yours

with traces of your dreams

leaking in between,

but they are mine alone

and clearly mistaken

when my words are taken

and use them like they are yours.

I become selfish with the words I write

you can only read them

and never understand

for I keep the secrets behind every letter

hidden far away

and I hold the key for every written line.

Selfish I am with the words I write

and they are only mine.






I can go and go even further

the who I am left somewhere

I visited in my travel.

I can go and go to find

answers, isn’t what we seek?

But neither here nor there

will I ever end this search of mine

for the more I unravel

the more I want to know.

Even now when I speak

 with my words dreams

lost in time make no sense

and grounded here every day it seems

I get lost more and more in pretense.

I must go and go even further

and leave the who I am somewhere,

some place I’ve never been.





Let the loud music fill the room

a rhythmic beat of drums and saxophone

drowning the voices, drowning the voices.

I dance to the beat singing a song

but I can’t dance and I can’t sing

Closing my eyes I let it all sip in

through the open pores of my skin.

It is a good day I presume

finding myself dancing and singing a tune

but I can’t dance and I can’t sing.

Just messing around in a Sunday afternoon while cooking some good rice with chicken and pinto beans.