Si éste intento de poema tuviese un nombre, debería ser el tuyo, pero por cobardía dejaré el anonimato. Después de todo...Siempre fuimos fanáticos del misterio.

Habían pasado tantos días. Tantas horas, tantos inviernos. Inviernos fríos que quemaban como infiernos.
Incendios. Incendios de nieve, supongo.

Nos vimos ese día luego de tanto tiempo. Tanto deseo acumulado ya nos estaba haciendo daño. Ja... ni siquiera nos dimos un abrazo, saltamos directo a los besos. Tengo que decirte; mis latidos estaban muy acelerados.

Lancé mis dados. No me importó el presente o los presentes que en las ventanas estaban asomados.

Y me mirabas a los ojos, y en los tuyos veía que eres mi principal demonio carnal. Pero a la final, si Dios existe sabe que tú no quieres ser ningún ángel.

Nos besamos en ese banco como si nos quisiéramos chupar el alma... Querida, tus besos sabían más exquisitos de lo usual a causa de la ***** barata. Y me arrebatabas el aliento.Y tus senos me me observaban detrás de tu escote; o quizás yo los observaba a ellos, pero no nos importaba.

Estabas tan errática. Tan radical que me era difícil seguirte el paso.

Ibas lanzando ***** sobre el piso y dulces gemidos a mis oídos. No te mentiré, me sentía cohibido. Renuncié a mi actitud bohemia y despreocupada de vaquero y me sentí cohibido. Pero lo que me crecía en el pantalón era muy real como para haberlo fingido. Sabes lo difícil que se me hace ignorar mis animales instintos.

Y no queríamos despedirnos. De irracionalidad pasamos a tecnicismos. Al: "No te vayas, quédate un rato más. Te haré café para que la ***** te deje de afectar". Y después los besos eran besos de tiernos adolescentes que se profesan amor eterno. Amor eterno que nunca fue correcto al momento.

Es triste como acabo todo, ¿no, querida? Es triste que ahora me odies y me hayas sacado de tu vida. Pero si lees esto... por favor, recuérdame.

Recuérdame tan imperfecto como soy.
Recuérdame en tu escote; bajando mis manos por tu espalda y llegando a tus nalgas.
Recuérdame escuchando esa canción que es mi canción favorita, y que escuchas solo por esa razón.
Como sea que quieras, pero recuérdame.

Yo siempre te recuerdo. Porque fuiste, eres y serás la autodestrucción que aún necesito.

¡Qué alegre y fresca la mañanita!
Me agarra el aire por la nariz:
los perros ladran, un chico grita
y una muchacha gorda y bonita,
junto a una piedra, muele maíz.
Un mozo trae por un sendero
sus herramientas y su morral:
otro con caites y sin sombrero
busca una vaca con su ternero
para ordeñarla junto al corral.
Sonriendo a veces a la muchacha,
que de la piedra pasa al fogón,
un sabanero de buena facha,
casi en cuclillas afila el hacha
sobre una orilla del mollejón.
Por las colinas la luz se pierde
bajo el cielo claro y sin fin;
ahí el ganado las hojas muerde,
y hay en los tallos del pasto verde,
escarabajos de oro y carmín.
Sonando un cuerno corvo y sonoro,
pasa un vaquero, y a plena luz
vienen las vacas y un blanco toro,
con unas manchas color de oro
por la barriga y en el testuz.
Y la patrona, bate que bate,
me regocija con la ilusión
de una gran taza de chocolate,
que ha de pasarme por el gaznate
con la tostada y el requesón.

Crabalocker fishwife, pornographic priestess
Boy, you’ve been a naughty girl, you let your knickers down...
                           John Lennon

A carnal muse and fallen sprite
I’ll paint for you, in flattering light.
My model’s sensuality
Shall trump all dull reality;
Inspired by Womankind’s raw truth,
Life-drawing class heats up, uncouth.
Still, I am sure some stiff-necked *****
Shall smear my heartfelt lay as lewd.

Edenic exile sought by men,
Receive this tribute from my pen
And keyboard, played inexpertly
By one who knows you rapturously
As a muse of Aztec/Latin race
Prodigious in your works and grace:

Born Ruth Ayon, in God-Knows-Where,
She overwhelms in underwear—
And shedding that, turns good men bad,
Makes angels fall and gods go mad.
Los Angeles (and that’s the joke)
Is where this cherub went for broke
Cashing in her soul for action,
Soreness, ***** and tumefaction.

Laurie Vargas, mouth full of ***,
Spread for us now your Aztec ***
Your sultry contours hypnotize;
The laughter in your ******* eyes
Brings music from Tenochtitlán
And opens windows to Aztlán
You smile, unlike those other *****
Who merely grimace. Gringa butts
Are less audacious than your own . . .
Their charms are better left unknown.
Your cheeks in tan proportion shine
Embodying some rare truth divine.
(Through Poetry, I’ll make them mine.)

I must speak forth of what I found—
Though standing on unholy ground,
Here I behold your lively art . . .
Your unpierced flesh has lanced my heart.
Whereas most stars are tattooed, jaded
Your bright aspect shines, unfaded.
Clad in campesina thread
While moaning on your torrid bed,
Adorned in homespun broidered blouse
In some vaquero‘s rancho-house
Or naked as Mexica dawn,
Bespattered like a dewdropped lawn,
Spurting with some panting plumber
In an endless *****-summer,
You glow, like honey dipped in light
And undulating Latin night.
Your burning bush, much-trafficked place,
Recalls the Red Sea’s parted space
No less than your beatific face.

An unrepentant Magdalene,
You plunge into each graphic scene.
Madonna of the varied act
You swell, engorge, dilate, contract
And play the part with crazy wit
Suckling madly at your own ***.
The way you can accommodate
What barely seems to satiate
With pure abandon, leaves us awed,
As mesmerized, your name we laud,
(With one hand—harder to applaud !)

Will you survive to have regrets
When raw desire no longer gets
Your body hot with inner flame?
When *** has ceased to call your name?
I wonder if you’ve found such paths
Of flesh and pimping sociopaths
A route to riches, gain, and pleasure
Or mere sacking of your treasure.
At the end of your sweaty day,
Is there more than a harlot’s pay?

I wish you well—and hope in time,
When life has left you less sublime,
You’ll find your way to God through Christ
And learn of what was sacrificed
To free you from your sordid fame
Where sinners hail your glorious shame.

Whether I'm out on Military Drive
With my Ruca cruising the street,
I can't stay alive
Without that special meat.

I'm talking bout early morn,
Looking for a place for some comida,
When you need that taco like food ****,
You need it in your Vida.

Yeah, you have buevo ranchero,
Or maybe some bean and cheese,
But I need me some vaquero
To fill my Mexican needs.

So make me a taco,
Make it chorizo and egg,
I'm just a typical vato,
Cmon, please don't make me beg!

And now you know about my favorite dish,
Eating Mexican is like a granted wish.

I was dead in the morning and gone by the evening.
The vultures feasted.
I laid for hours not knowing I was a ghost.
Haunted features.
Ghost town thrift stores and surf guitars,
These are my delights.
Black deserts and high mountains,
Vaquero of the night.
Sun tanned bones and what have you.
Deep in the heart of Texas.
A lonesome ghost in the South
With nothing but a peyote dream.

You roll in like a vaquero to the Wild West:
water galloping the earth & black clouds

rippling: the foaming flank of a stallion.
Tip your hat & get to business: charge

the air with cactus-prickle shivers, slip
your Zeus fingers from holsters and lightning-

rod them to the sky. Rumble your spurs
& order me a sarsaparilla—lid-crack

carefully; an effervescent gale will brew.
Breathe slow at first: electric hum through bone-

white grass: bows as you ghost by—
clear your throat, lasso tight my attention

with guttural echoes pressed heavy on
my chest. Then rip open

the constellations with gunshot blows,
explode wide saloon doors & take

no prisoners. Oil-lacquer streets
& ride off blazing: leave the women

but take me, saddle-swing me high
in the catatonic static of a ghost town.

You’ll vanish like you came: I know
what they say about red skies

in morning. But I’m never awake
to watch you silhouette away.

Today, the Earth fell in reverse.

I watched a Western backwards, the blood seeping into the Vaquero's chest, his eyes roll forward, his challenger gripping his bleeding arm, the red spot on his jacket shrinking, putting his gun back into the holster. He climbed onto his anxious horse and rode backwards into the sunset, his intact body being washed over with shades of pink and orange.

I watched you trip in reverse, staring at nothing until you popped the shrooms out of your mouth, counted them and then shoved them back into your sweatshirt pocket. I listened to our phone call in reverse. I cried at first, you said something, shameful, then I reeled back, asked you what's the worst you've done, and you said you were okay. Ringing. Silence.

I watched myself in reverse. Laughing, looking at people I love, and all their wonderful dark circle shadowed eyes, messy hair, and dried tears. I watched myself stare at them from a distance, then I felt myself forget their names. I liked your tattoos and I liked your long blonde hair. I forgot about both of those things. I sat alone in my room, I cried, I took back everything I said. I shook off the sadness. I laughed again, fell into your [sober] arms, ran my fingers through your uncut hair. I forgot what your mothers name was, I forgot your favorite color, I forgot your bedtime. I forgot your name. I forgot I loved you.

I wanted to **** myself in reverse. I wanted to watch the bullet whip out of my skull, the bone fit together like puzzle pieces. The worm hole in my brain fills, my blood flows backwards.

My innocence is unfucked to me. My lips curl up. I am happy, I am smiling. My boyfriend takes his unscarred arms and wraps them around my waist. I watch his eyes frown upside down, he tells me he loves me.

I hit fast forward.

Prohibidos los silencios y los gritos unánimes
las minifaldas y los sindicatos
artigas y gardel
la oreja en radio habana
el pelo largo la condena corta
josé pedro varela y la vía láctea
la corrupción venial el pantalón vaquero
los perros vagos y los vagabundos
también los abogados defensores
que sobrevivan a sus defendidos
y los pocos fiscales con principio de angustia
prohibida sin perdón la ineficacia
todo ha de ser eficaz como un cepo
prohibida la lealtad y sobretodo la tristeza
esa que va de sol a sol
y claro la inquietante primavera
prohibidas las reuniones
de más de una persona
excepto las del lecho conyugal
siempre y cuando hayan sido
previa y debidamente autorizadas
prohibidos el murmullo de las tripas
el padrenuestro y la internacional
el bajo costo de la vida y la muerte
las palabritas y las palabrotas
los estruendos molestos el jilguero los zurdos
los anticonceptivos pero quién va a nacer.

De enero a junio a diciembre,
no hay clima que no quiera volver.
Este año se sintió como una puta pistola,
sintió como una telenovela.
Monté a caballo, tuve accidentes,
besé cabrones, morí mil muertes.
Monté olas y quedé atrapado bajo el agua.
probé amapolas y desperté en Nicaragua.
Desde el verano hasta el invierno,
no hay mes que me haga decir “¡Lo probando!”
Este año es simplemente el peor,
Lleno de error pero también lleno de color.
Pero volveré a montar,
como el mejor vaquero y rejoneador.
Pero lo volveré a hacer,
como el mejor torero y matador.
Moriré otra vez y viviré otra y otra vez,
como la protagonista de una telenovela.
Podría hacer esto una y otra vez,
como una puta telenovela!

Somebody’s Hero

   In today’s world, youth is robbed
To early of it’s innocence
The power of evil is intruding
And persuasive with it’s wickedness

Yes the world is getting colder
Our acts of kindness are fading
Giving way to darkness and gloom and in
The waters of our pureness evil is wading

But you can be somebody’s hero
There’s no need to prey on the weak
They struggle with their everyday
Their lives are already bleak

It’s easier to be good than you think
Don’t be the one throwing the trash down
Instead be the one doing the right thing
And pick it up from the ground

Be somebody’s hero, hold open a door
And don’t be afraid to share a smile
Take some time to give of yourself
And be with someone for awhile

You don’t have to be a Doctor or nurse
Or a soldier or a first responder
Just join in on the fight and kindness
Is a powerful way to conquer

You don’t need a cape and have
Some kind superhero power
To be the one to save someone
In their darkest hour

It’s really just the simple things
It’s not always the Knight or Vaquero
Riding in on a horse to save the day
To be Somebody’s Hero

Written By:Charles Kean
Copyright © 06/11/2022
All rights reserved

Range wars and water fights,
stories told and legends made up,

I am asking your attention, not per
mission, I am on my own, worth per
precept dispatched and reset per use

make the kind of man who believes
modern armies have one use, one alone.

War, for any reason, a warrior ethos,

X wars long form, whole whying wars,
with words working the balance co
gnostication wise knowing science all

that was Logos to Aristotle and Epimenides and Saul of Tarsus,

all wise citizen's when men's minds
and muscles and wills to resist insisted

come along or be ignorant of the worth
of war, come fight your own way out
from a cult that ate better men than

me-self and my weself, when I listened
while praying saying such ideas aloud,
as raised a momentary heart felt will

we may imagine thinking each word
as if it were formed from letters, many
as two letter words lie idle as pi to many

how
ever
here
we make some static and tip the balance
we ought to know what the prexy got
on his standandardard reason ings exam
srie, he passedemallfliyin ointment, hate

to say, but we just can't say, he's likely
was one of the top guys in military school, we can be sure he hates whom he believes are his enemies, including me and you, if you read this far and don't confess, holygnoshit they all cheated?
Life in the era of Ancestry.com

tipped toward hero story kings winning,

forethought, holiday season, annual
opportunity to make believe, next year,

look who had a baby, may be usual best,
look after children we sired, aware if it
does
happen, we both were savvy enough,
we agreed to share the care, and accept

true love feels good to make, and peace
is even better, good to make believe,
it can last, unless one of you breaks
pretend to be at peace, in mind,

and mend the gate to hell,
as we realized we are spirit creatures
already spent our last dime, caught this
old
cold
idea virus, think a tiny bit of it true
and it grows into a double minded you
one reader makes it work, sneeze it
one wonders if t'other what ifs

and most stories
capable of feeding a teller, needed

an ethos,
a bag of weights, agreed to locally

whose side was the wrong side,
in which war to get to where we were

when I woke up this morning, stretched

same yesterday lies, lie still today,

so today bets tomorrow's better,

calling all effectual fervent pray answers,
yeses pile to the ceiling, ah

you noticed, in the JWST sphere's edge,

I traveled 100 miles today in a car,
I could never repair, maybe a flat,
I once repaired a Triumph Spitfire,

with a butterknife, a VW carb float
and a Zippo lighter, on the northside

of Route 66, you honked and waved,
hippies were friendly, I was imagining

winding detcord around freeway bridges
before they got to Flagstaff and ruined
my own private four leaf freeway
exchange,
with no free way either way, a junction
in the middle of forest, Yavapai land,

Interstate 40, was approaching at speed,
speed of life then, speed of mind now,

fast as fine structural constants occur

constantly, infinite dirivitive knowledge,
constituting new knowing, new ways we

work while we agree we are two me and
thee whithersoever and whensoever we

cross purposes
in some classic gaseous spirit defined,

so fine, no finer, atoms, and then, we
boomers were born into evidence, we
learned central point gravity spinning,
and electromagneto coil winding,
in seventh grade science, needed
before we used power tools,

eighth grade, 13, hit, Donald Trump,
big kid bully rich boy, needs discipline,
so, when I was experiencing 1961, he

was experience the least possible link
me and him and that summer, except

For Mantle and Maris and ******
at the Drive In, double feature
Lemon and Remick, Days of Wine and
Roses, summer of bayou swimming,

chameleon seeing, and seen again later
such creatures live a sane and simple life.

Words as tools to think with, once,
then cast aside, to think with infinite
precision, not wrong, even a we bit once\

one drop om'gahdshesdonit, we bit


Muses entertainers users attend to
uses some fine ideas hate, in allergic

terms
sneezing, secret school records,
under secret power locked and keyed
all paper. All at once, nobody ever knows

manifest peaceability say to where Jesus is
peace be still,
stop and retake certain vows, try to remember
September Journey… once, on Earth, here, peace
se no se free from pressure all around centered

sense sapience from higher forms of well formed we,
we think and breathe, each day, time, per instance
now, we pray, truth be told,

and if its worth may time, redeemed per usual fees
puppy sneeze static, danger, will disease creep in fi

finest ratio of one to precisely this is not that, if we

thunk it… let it ride, I bet today becomes readily
available, easy read, cheap, free used spit images hit.

--- pro eh profess protest… promethean fame
Epimethean shame, we shouldalistened, we
refuse union containment, aweforms as us
awful old man gaseous weform reforms
jokes broke
whenkidpreachers told'em yokem
ropem ridem vaquero, kpow
Dunson land brand, on Jesus, this Christmas

witness an abortion survivors testimony,
unfortunately recorded when delivered
glossalia-wise lies lay lady lay. Big brass bed

I shined such a thing, I know what you mean,
they were noisydamnedsprings what you mean

mom and dad did that and did not know kids could
just up and grow old and good for nothing, fair trade

boomers alive today survived, by living
through everything that made Donald possible,
nothing makes believing him good is peaceable,
non sense thinking circa 1865, wonder ifery fiction

hmmm, shotgunweddins, in my times

as a witness, some times, I say I knew then
as a freeborn child to as far as I knew then
aiiiiiii zooms to infinity, if that's your per
spective, point, a star out in ever sense
freeborn grown men, in National debt.

My credit got me old, and this wise, no mas.

My legacy is my only actual effort at art,
for goodness sakes, aitia causal effectuality
I saw a fiddler fiddling child tunes, cartoon tunes
turkey in the straw or something, but he was not
a good fiddle player, he was missing something,

a muse used to amuse such as find me amusement,
no thinking needed, free standing logos, word wise/

fervently I pray, forgive thinking you misunderstood
see, I feel you heard our whole storied idea wrong.

The mediating wisdom, truth itself in spirit form, pi
proves infinity we form from wisdom making pi known
so we have precision pivot gem stones in our time pieces

Generated Enemy Mind, the gall, yokes break,
who blames the fastest faster ever methed up?

Set the captives free, we did the needful thing,

we realized we
become more mental, as we age,
we become more like our selves, as seen
on tv

I'm like that guy, digitized self help
back to Norman Vincent Peale,

with proven war service
under every flag that ever flew
over Texas, as claimed by John Wayne,

mind wind
1948, Red River, 2025, enduring
to this end, my wits ending endurance

see that John Wayne, and me, and Jesus,
who comes down from the cross to correct
some wrong thinking mis uses of social authority


to make believe, free mind expanse, free thinking
produces lieve being right minds, used universally,

we can agree when we can use near cognate ideas
behind words, the way Pauli and Jung agree about numbers

and things

attracted to shiny things, oddities,
allowing for recognized movie scenes,
all most all boomers alive today, once saw
John Wayne **** a man from Mexican Texas,

and say to him, It's my land now,
brand'em all, any brand, it's all mine now…

that John Wayne, looks Jesus in the eye, I know
he drawls, he took the formula and became you know
Stupid is as stupid did, he lied,
we listened, he guiled us, we learned and live;
we live with liars, we need not lie, I write all day,
and count it my fair share, picking up trash,
by the freeway, I knew a guy, did that
every day, came
to hear me preach,
once a month, I got the call
in an indian casino, the will
to say sure,

all in.

circa just
before the Civil War, patience
testing all who endured
to the end,
with Trump
in some other people's reality, mine was
in therapy
we teach patience used
to preserve the soul idea,
sticky vessles formed
from unfired final escape clause
riverbottom mud made men
power to imagine peace
for a minute
at thought speed experienced,
in fact, all four Zoas dancing ballet, then riverdance
attempted
at once, Watson Brake, Louisiana,
in time tune
ing
runners carried abalone t
o the desert, and carried points,
obsidian scalpel sharp points
across the sea
of grass,
down the edge
of long ago, past the wells full
from rains

run run run and tell good news,
the circus is coming
to town,
wisdom forms
from schadenfreude Freude would loved
to have

known, it is not all about ***.




as beguiling is understood to mean, I was lied to,
so bemusing is understood to mean musing use made
classically trained to amuse
usefull goodness be mazed see
amazing, looking down, see, we knew
we knew what could be known, we saw

those intaglios from the air, Patten broke lines
learned as practical proprioception wind sign eyes
- no secret codes, any thing I say I thunk and knew it

fact check me from let this mind be defined a term

the weapons of my warfare, for which I will admit,
I prayed and fasted for fervently, expertise with these

edges
prepositions mind may achieve indeed, assisted, rules wise wrap around type no ding at the end it frowardly finally wraps, so width of window, experienced today,

from seashore dawn, to even ing notice ing experience ing today

at time speed politically speaking, alienated outlaw inlaws, still, we relate

if your father was a broken man, and you, kinda, let him see, he broke you,

at thirteen, let's see kid, who really is that kid sent to boarding school in movies.

Did it happen to you, or while you were active in everything serious upto now.

To do one's duty, love demands definition, hate, to be fair, has no say,

absence of knowledge believed to be power, has no power here, today


smell the victory, or petrichor, stoners blood in mud.

as above, so below
or so the story was being told
by the time of the baby boom.

Blessed events and no oil of Croton,
the child would have swallowed, could have,

had she known, ah, holy misconception, may if

only,
we woke this morning and drove in one hour,
give or take a few minutes, fifty miles to sea level,

from where the sun had begun to fill our 4K valley
meadow, wet with dew, begun this day as it were,

except for the freeway, and the Hybrid CVX.

this beautiful a morning as ever has been,
between the divide and the ocean, since ever was
these granite waves I sit on as I write, were ever waves