3 summer poems i was afraid but now abandonment

Raul Munoz
“Laptop Wake-me-ups”
Viendo la reflexcion de mi padre en la pantaya
DADS REFLECTION ON MY LAPTOP
Me estoy viendo y pienso si esto es el fin
Voy as ser como el?
Mi destino ya escrito and dicedido para mi
Nunca tenia un milagro o una oportunidad
Para cambiar calquier parta de mi vida
Solo ser otro estrano lleno de drogas
Nosotros regales al cuerpo.
Madre, es verdad.
Soy la proxima pagina de este
Pais de banderas nocturnas.
Estas muerto papa
Que ha pasado con nuestra
Dynasty.
Momentary, aching for implosion.
Shot up jeeps, bullet proof deaths.
New York City cops—they ain’t too smart.
Top five things to do:
Museums
Simian mobile disco DID NOT HAPPEN. BUT ALREADY SAW THEM.
La riots and designer drugs. BOUGHT MY TICKET. LIFE DON’T ILL ME.
Catch every borough.
Snakes on a plane. –gotta catch that one in New York.
Raves are such a double-edged sword. With regards to drugs.
I can’t say I go to raves sober. You’ll always find me on the dance floor with one
Substance or another in me leading the next step to euphoria.
8/31: But I can dance sober too. Am I digging another hole for myself. My backyard is ruined.

Raul Munoz
“Shark Nursery”

Bite your lip and look me in the eyes. You’re a pirate
To my heart, the veins the wires that make your noose.
Meet you in the catacomb, it’s the darkest cover that
Brings out the cocksucker in me. –Brush your tongue,
And write me a journal so I can steal it when you shower.

Had a dream, wrote my own epitaph at age thirteen.
Woke up and went back to sleep, wrote it again.
This dream I was twenty-two. It was less words, too
Blurry to tell if they meant anything. I asked the gentleman
Next to me if he could read them for me. –I don’t have eyes.

Sat down on a bench next to a family plot, only first names.
Best to wait it out by this local dynasty, tribe.
Age fifty now, grey bearded and the bad cancer, wearing glasses.
I got the prescription for this moment, the whole ground can wait.
What do we have here, stranger? 1987-2037. A TWILIGHT SON.

RAUL
50 years sound right.
10 23
11 24
12 25
13 26
14 27
15 28
16 29
17 30
+20 YEARS= 50 YEARS. 50 YEARS SOUND RIGHT

Raul Munoz
“Cape Crusade”*
*take this literal for me

Walking on wind steps paved
By those feather children.
They pretend to be wolves and
Howl at the pallid peak, like
Howling at a strangers face.

Its three cents to make the
Passage, says the nearest elder;
His last feather winding for a fall.
Long brushes marking lines and
Circles on our faces, a line now
Amassed behind me. Face paint.
It’s an homage, he says.

I want blue the color of your kingdom,
Says a young bride behind me, 17 years.
Her gown, made of crumbled parchment,
So much angst the young writer,
How he balls his block and error.

Beginning to skip beginning to run.
(Kingdom comes to the lonesome.)
Behind me now, just little dots colored
For tribute, but can they say a prayer?

First sight of the burial ground.
It takes weeks to match
Myself with the marked land.
Rusted pillars and wires make
The borders, no sight of entry.
Abandoned crow nests, cobwebs.
It’s the surnames buried and
Everyone makes their own tombstone.

The first one to speak sang a song.
Get a rise out of me, feather man
Get a rise out of me, you broken arrow
Get a rise out of us; we wait to leave our tomb
How did I get here? I interrupted.
Children aloof float up here, he replied.
Make a pose you can live with.