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.

two images and a dream i saved. "attention" ::: the poem

Raul Munoz
“Attention”
Feathers on the grasswalk like an
Elder’s headdress. –Yes, we’ll surrender.
Danglin’ moon tonight, hanging from
The violet sheet like an earring.
It was raining bad that dream.
Cats and dogs outside, let them
Reach our ceiling. Third to last
Was half dog half sea lion. Last
One in was dog sized sea lion.
–That’s weird, come on in, stranger.
Then it was Africa, a pet nursery.
Miniature sheep and baby elephants.
The city, asphalt was on a hill. All the
Guns and ammo rolled to the bottom
Gutter. We were headed to Europe next.
:Shirtless backs facing God asking for peace.

BASURA MOTIF

Everyone hold hands.

Get your leather get your nation state.

Mothra, Mothra, Mothra. And he comes from behind to laser you away.

Not enough treaties for a rain shower.

Cardboard ghouls, we'll sell them to the blind.

When the foliage leaves, its the pictures that we'll remember.

There's never enough coke at these parties.

Angels without wings are called mothers.

Nancy, answer my calls.

You can't feast this piggy.

Converge, the new diverge.

If we sink, save the letters.

I've got soul in my pockets.

Vagrant for a night. It requires no heart.

Recurring dreams. A back-burner emotion.

My cubs, remember me for my fangs.

New York Poem

Its the end of the road and I couldn't help it.

Mammoth mothers and fathers out to save us.

Its fifty talons to the sea shores.

Take me away to your mortality.

I wish I could do this longer.

Two hands for a good thunderclap.

We all need a good bed bug.

Hope to get the best from you.

I wrote a poem on the plane, at the airport, in Brooklyn the past week that sums up my New York stay and the summer; I'm crossing fingers.

Raul Munoz
“Desert City; Rooftop Wet Meets River Breeze (ATXNYC)”

(1): Crying and laughing sound the same, save for the
Obvious pitch. In fact, they are brother and brother
Aligning the same emotion: celebration misery.

(2): You worry too much about your façade
Wrinkling you forgot how to dance. Let
That cocaine slur reach the blacktop.

(3): Am I a late buzz for your morning-after
Wake? When the shutter speed is ten you
Kiss a thirty. Holding devils on your palm,
Sprinkle pitchforks into my throat. Late messages.

(4): Natural History Museum. We saw the progress
Of man and taxidermy at the Natural History Museum.
We wanted to fucking steal every creature model and
Reproduced INDIAN artifacts and oblivion keepsakes.
(Conquest): Does not become at the surveyors office
But two-hundred years later window shopping their remains.

(5): I’m trying to have a moment in my aisle seat, something
Permanent but shades away from losing cabin pressure. Two siblings
Next to me, their embrace and their plane chat. I just need to see my
Brother.

(6): This summer is drinking and sweating. And driving and taking in the
Skyline: Five weeks in my state capital, then the epicenter of the earth.
But it’s the I love you’s and mom and I miss you’s that really get to me.

(7): I couldn't write a poem on the plane to Brooklyn. I tried Spanish, it
Made it worse. A truth all men soak their face. DADS REFLECTION ON
MY LAPTOP. Is it over? Is that what how my face will age? Will his
Tail stick to the sole of my shoe?

(8): It’s a forest of clouds from the window view and I keep reminding
Myself I’m an adult now. Time to get a job, apply for graduate school,
Serious writing, be a good son and brother. If I can keep the latter!

(9): 1987-2037.

(10): Grow up,