First Contact

Shame and Nakedness,

Deep in the Amazon 

the lost tribes 

want food and clothing.

The anthropologist concludes

“They are human after all”

Happy when fed

comforted when clothed.

They are naked in the Amazon.

My sense of self-loathing

reaches the breaking point.

I run around naked inside my home.

My sense of dignity

depends upon my clothes

and the buildings that surround me.

They are an identity, my identity.

I loathe them as extensions of my self.

We are all in the Amazon

pretending like we are clothed.

As indifference grows

upon indifference.

Shedding love as something significant.

Buried under currents of electricity

we hide our shame together.

The Marriot has a water fountain

in California’s eternal summer.

It’s running for me, 

and it’s running for the hurried young woman, with her sugar daddy 

slinking into a Lexus at 5 o’clock in the morning.



The hardened steel hammer’s head.

The body of the mute.

To be alive under the shade of a burdened branch

heavy with a million leaves.

The sun, the damned sun and its influences.

The sun-tanned leather.

The plastic skin.

The California dream.

On the first day of Autumn

the light breeze raises and bends back again

pressing the old red, white, and blue

against the border around a field of dreams.

Heading down the 118

the church

the steeple

the several hundred thousand people

passing by

racing by

weaving by

goodbye, goodbye.

I imagine each of us dying in an earthquake

the overpasses

the tunnels

the rubble

mixed in with Star Wars license plates

the Mickey Mouse parents and children

and the NotW declarations

For Jenna

Like a wild bull

Toro toro toro!

Your hair shone in the sun,

Flor flora florecimiento

En tus ojos libertad sin fin


Olive eyes and skin,

slender hands,

y en mis sueños eres una arboleda

where the sun shimmers through golden hair.

Is she the bull or matador?


Grabbing the hilt of life like a sword

her red cape flashes, flying victoriously

She is the bull and matador

The crowd cheers “Olé!” 

Why does the crowd cheer?


Enraptured in the moment and all that lies ahead

with swift movements and narrow escapes

both creatures sweating, panting short breaths

they turn to face as the final charge begins


Estocada! she penetrates the dense muscular frame

the bull bursts forth, thrusts, and tears away

all but your solar plexus

before breathing his last

and collapsing on the clay


the matador clutching her waist

right hand clenched on the reddened soil

stretching across her foe she whispers

“olé olé olé…”

to rest in the peace of overcoming;

en la primavera de su vida

en la paz de la muerte