Sunday, October 16, 2005

His Excellency

His Excellency Monsignor Tribo stopped in mid-flight and slipped
He fell on his rump, and everybody well-bloody knows
(and if they don't, they should)
Just how difficult it is to stand on the clouds right after a prat fall of such nature.
This material we're made out of is nothing more than a facade
Animals without opposing thumbs and the capability to lie to themselves
are way better equipped to withstand the elements of natural selection
The Monsignor won't endure decompression without his genitals exploding
into millions of bloodstained and asymmetrical fragments. We must reckon, however,
that once his rotting flesh goes off, he will have another huge set of problems in his hands.

Ah! because physical pain is nothing when compared to deep remorse
See if you can touch the devil's nose with your own without burning yourself, no one can
—God knows I've tried —
Go ahead and leave the house at once without being seen by your own destiny.
Good luck!
Play her a prank and hide from her, behind the secrets which have made you paranoid
Sing her a lullaby and whisper softly in her good ear, tell her that everything is going to be alright
tell her not to worry about you because your underwear is clean and you're not lacking food
Monsignor Tribo talked to you and he promised you money, he said you have a great future
ahead of you (and behind you). Those were his words, not mine. He wasn't joking when he said it, either.
Good luck!, you're going to need it.

Copyright © Alberto Ruiz 2001/2008 All rights reserved

Friday, July 22, 2005

From Nothing To Something in 60 Seconds

Nothing is the perfect word to start this scribble
(when you're bored you'd do almost whatever)
Seldom have I seen good table manners
from a card-carrying member of this species.
The idea is to ignore all they have taught you
to not get too caught up in standard logic
no rhyme and a solid disregard for meter
to use the words as if they were a toilet.

What we do with the language is appalling,
it should shame any teacher of sound grammar
we are limited by our lack of refinement
Oh!, and by our sheer disdain for what is decent.
Still, we open wide and say it,
as it comes out of our arses, without filters
So you think you can do this any better? . .
Well, you might and I'd love to see you try it.

If my memory serves me well, I've been here prior,
I can actually tell you what is coming
Let me see... a bit about the grammar, no, wait, damn it!
. . . I will end this rap for sure with something. . .
I'm not sure just what it is, but trust me
. . .hmmn, nothing comes to mind again, I'm truly sorry!
I guess you were right all along, I'm full of horse shit,
It's true,how can you say that with a straight face?

You hardly even know me, or what drives me.
How can you tell me I suck, with such conviction?
it's clear to me you want out of this poem.
I can see it in your eyes, the look is baffling!
Do come again and leave next time when prompted
don't dare me to explain, I'd rather show you
that if I massage the appropriate information
I may yet turn this nonsense into something.

Copyright © Alberto Ruiz 2001/2008 All rights reserved

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Drunk & Sober

The knife has sunk in
the dirt has piled on
the love has fell off
the rain has toppled over
my gut resembles an empty vault
and you hold the key
but you're a lousy lover

The honey has dripped in
the luck has cried off
the wetness has dried out
the passion tumbled over
my soul resembles a casket
your legs squeezing in
my brain's in the gutter

The moon has crept in
the dark has ran off
the guilt has poured on
the embrace melted over
my mind resembles a black hole
I'm drunk on sadness and regret
you are clean
and sober

Copyright © 2001/2008 Alberto Ruiz. All rights reserved

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Deusa Europa

You, sensuous nymph
voluptuous goddess
of sand of sweat and scents
of silky reds
of massive legs
of cream and kermes
of ancient crimson
fluids rushing
at modern speeds
from a single thought
to the core of your gender
down the pathway of sins
to the furnace
where anything is possible
and everything is rendered

Cover me in the naked satin
of your milky and fiery skin
malleable red clay blanket
of Mediterranean ilk
forged in blood-stained
salty black water
and medieval steel
made impure in the new land
of milk and honey
Dodgers and Yankees
and cable bills

Quench my thirst
with your left nipple
pink and deformed,
sweet and bitter
at the cusp of giving in
with ancient lust
and modern glitter
motherly in its eagerness
to please
utterly selfless and blind
as only true love can be

Let me rest these dirty curls
on the pillows of your thighs
warm and meaty,
let me play
let me lie along your side
like a motherless child
drawing castles, knights and horses
dragons, damsels in distress
with my reckless, needy fingers
in the sandbox of your sex.

NYC, NY April 2005

© 2005 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Anne Marie's Lover

I saw Ann Marie standing by the import rack
down at the local record store's basement
a big chunk of her shiny black hair
hiding half of her pockmarked complexion
the dark short spikes concealed her simper
but failed to protect her neck and her back
from the fluorescent lamps and from my prying eyes.
Long, pale and blue as the New York City winter
thick legs curved like silver snakes twirling
towering, wrapping around each other
stout but strong thighs
the child-bearing hips of a young single mother.

An unlit, clumsy cigarette
dangling daringly and dangerously
at the verge of her open mouth
hanging on for dear life, half loose, half stuck
to her round and fleshy left bottom bulb
Long and slender, wet and swollen
branded with the lipstick of its owner
advancing and retreating, in a long passionate kiss
in perfect sync with her heavy breathing
her companion, her lover, her kisser
the thing she loved the most, her victim

Ankle-high black army boots
spray-painted with graffiti and Brooklyn mud
multiple rips in her black fishnets
multiple holes in her rose earlobes
filled with neither gold nor silver
shut closed and empty like dead flowers
like tiny black crosses on the side of a deadly highway
short, thick black hair and short black skirt
black blouse, black eye shadow, black nails
Anne Marie's fingers moved like a thief at night
scanning and searching like military searchlights
in the midst of a pitch-black Brooklyn sky

Someone called her name
her head turned swiftly
her lips shaken with the violent motion
gravity, inertia, and other secretive forces
plotting like grassy knoll lone gunmen,
conspiring like jealous politicians
like most greek gods, like all greek poisons
A sudden sense of sadness overcame me
I pitied her companion, her lover, her kisser
as it shot out like a bullet from her pouty mouth
and landed deadly wounded at my feet.
An innocent bystander, a voyeur
I contemplated for a brief second or two
lost in the curved space of this urban tragedy
but she, abruptly and decisively
put an end to any and all my sympathetic thoughts
by brutally stomping and squashing
and killing the thing she thought she loved the most

Bay Ridge, NY March 1995

© 1995 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved

Monday, January 17, 2005

I love You Well

I write to you
expecting nothing
asking for nothing
giving you nothing
I seek nothing more
than to be a shadow
on your wall, a window
to the pleasant past
not to your past anguish

An old coat
a glove
a rosary, the bridge
to the sweet medicine
not to the bitter cure

A point of support
a string, a chair
a joist
a ladder
a kiss on the cheek
the certainty of a dream
the embrace of a child
who remembers you and plays
in your backyard, with you
who remembers you and suffers
what you have endured

A truncated romance
for lack of malice
by cowardice or fate
by adolescence or rush
a heartache
a sadness
a teardrop
the corner of my mouth
a frustrated utopia
an insane hope
a sound, a hush
the remote possibility
which hurts when reminisced
and sweetens when recalled

The sensation of being
by your side and not to see you
of seeing you without you being
by my side and to have you
to hold you
and to lose you
of missing you
of false starts and stops
of cursed tomorrows
a whisper in your ear
and an absolute faith
in what has never been

From you I expect nothing
but I await anxious
to see me in your stare
to chat about our childhood
when I held your hand in mine
as if it were a rose
trembling and smiling
as I gazed into your eyes
and tightening my lips
I said a thousand silent words
the ones I never told you
the ones you knew all too well
hoping that one day
you'd forgive me and realize
that I loved you then and I love you still
and although it doesn't matter anymore
that I miss you now
and that my voice
still calls your name.

© 2005 Alberto Ruiz. All Rights Reserved