My dad knew as well as I that moving isnt easy, especially to a place so very far away, so he would cushion it with promises such as these. Thoughts of horses and mountain ranches made the process of tearing away from my homeland all that more bearable, so I complied. My visions were of a log cabin situated on the hips of the foothills, with gentle mares that would lean their heads in my window in the heat of summer mornings. Of dirt roads and tractors, of cattle and barbed wire. But mostly horses, of course.
Colorado is not all horses and ranches. Our house turned out to squat in a quiet patch of suburb that seems a subtle copy of the very neighborhood from which I had come. It is a pale ivory and not made of logs, and the grass lives in trim, green patches like quilt squares, not in long stalks that whisper to my elbows. And the mountains?
tesla dreamed of pearls,
and i drank a bloody mary
with all the fixings, choked
on spiced tomato scented
in sweat; one man's struggling
to pay his rentand i never
liked feeding the energy bill
or hearing about bloodied
pigeons. last night, i thought
i heard the crackling of one
man's revolution, but it was
just the fridge left open and
money on the floor. last night,
tesla dreamed of pearls, and i
read about one man breaking
his calloused feet, sun-dried
skin turning purpleand his
wife hates when i get like this,
when i peel an orange to lick
its sticky-citrus and forget
the white shirt browning and his
eyes were black and gleaming;
she hates when i call latebut i
tell her tesla would have conceived
of a light that looks nothing like a
lemon, that looks nothing like death
in one man's weathered hand
"you always liked bloody maries,"
she hissed, "and tesla dreamed of
1) They are an economic necessity. - Not true. The idea that a bunch of desperately poor, uneducated, unskilled, non-English speaking foreigners are an economic necessity is ludicrous. In fact, when you compare cost vs. benefit, it is obvious that they are not only NOT a necessity, they are not even an asset. Rather, they are a liability and a huge one at that.
2) They do work Americans won't do. - Not true. They do work Americans won't do for $2 an hour (especially if Americans can collect welfare and unemployment instead). Of course, if you got rid of the illegals, the jobs wouldn't pay $2 an hour. The people who wanted the work done would have to pay a wage that was attractive enough to get Americans to do the work. And it might even be enough to get Americans off the unemployment and welfar
(for i was not the there and they do not speak of it)
they came over on a boat i imagine,
just like the rest of them,
from lucerne or bavaria or kaposvar or drywseved
escaping medieval forests, rain playing peat bogs
like organ keyboards,
they were farmers, sown to wheat like arranged marriage,
mike had one ox, two bulls and a chest like stone & mortar,
he was a good man, looked god in the eyes at dawn,
whispered secrets to his bedsheets at night,
ed, ed was a freight train, handlebar moustache & coal-fired cheeks,
when he was eleven, ed built the honesdale canal with nothing except
his hands and the lord as a witness,
don't take my word for it but rumor has it there was a little napoleon
in him after all,
it was after the war,
the one of blue and grey and red
they must've looked up like children do
must've seen her, slow dancing in the harbor,
marveled at the way her arm never grew weary, brow never sweaty,
the way the green brown water smiled up a
Approach me with open arms.
Tell me what's in your heart.
Tell me that, while I'm in your arms.
Don't turn me away from your heart.
Don't turn me away with your arms.
Share your thoughts with me. I want to know your heart.
Share your fondest memories with me, as I rest in your arms.
Keep me in your heart.
Keep me in your arms.
Hold me close to your physical heart.
Hold me in your physical arms.
You inspired me with words from your heart.
You inspired me to want to fall in your arms.
on water that runs thicker than blood because
swirled cream can no longer claim white purity
make port in the shelter of the ash-grey portico
on flagstones at the foot of our divinity where
white flags herald grave stones and stonings
--we are both indignant
A Starbucks cup for her torch,
A medallion around her neck,
A GAP sign in her arm.
Theres a gap in our thinking:
God bless Armani, brand that I love?
Its all good fun and games
But there has to be an end.
Take Justices blind blade to her flesh.
Drain the Black Blood corroding her arteries
And giving thirst to her heart.
Cut open her crown so the world can see her blurred dreams.
Lead her to Boston, Philadelphia, and Monticello,
Awaken our Fathers to their legacy
The Innocent Virgin wronged.
Let the faces on Mount Rushmore cringe in pain
And the Bell of Liberty split asunder;
America awakes to her Nightmare.
United we stood,
Destiny we manifested,
Freedom we defended.
Are we getting along?
Are we at our Promised Land?
Are we free at all?
We once took it easy and journeyed forth
But our energy had limits
Our head grew heavy and our sights dimmed
We stopped our journey
We forgot we couldnt buy a stairway
I hate Barack Obama.
I hate people who think I'm racist for hating Barack Obama.
I hate Nancy Pelosi.
I hate Ann Coulter.
I hate ignorance.
I hate extremes.
I hate stupid people.
I hate stupid people who waste their lives.
I hate addictions.
I hate pseudoscience.
I hate people who dismiss everything that doesn't conform to their worldview as pseudoscience.
I hate smug atheists.
I hate smug Christians.
I hate applying to financial aid.
I hate being in debt.
I hate price inflation.
I hate body inflation.
I hate mustard.
I hate relish.
I hate dogs that attack cats.
I hate dogs that attack innocent people.
I HATE MONKEYS!!!
I hate illegal immigrants.
I hate that Obama is ignoring the illegal immigrants issue.
I hate the ACLU.
I hate terrorists
I hate that pro-lifers don't respect women's rights.
I hate people who kill gays.
I hate people who kill innocent women.
I hate people who think having sex with animals is hot.
I hate people who think having imaginary sex with animals is
and Joseph doesn't have a dick and the mail carrier's
bringing bad news from home that makes you cry
the same way you did when they called you Little Faggot
and poured hot oil on your arms and mámi just sat there
praying the rosary while you scarred over she was full of grace
and her hands were small on the beads "Dios te salve María" she said
over and over until pápi knocked Mary over with his fists
swinging at you (that was your fault too) while you ran
all the way across the border where you can flush the toilet paper
where Joseph doesn't have a dick yet but he will
once you can afford it where the chiles aren't as spicy
and the gringos are just as racist and Mary's face isn't full of roses
but her arms are full of scars like rose petals like the ones that fell
from the poncho and stained it with her image like the kids tumbling
down Tepeyac hill where she and Juan Diego made love
and she gave birth to Me