Dream, I

I’ve been trying to forget her,
For the past eight months.
I’ve been trying to forget her,
God gives me no luck.
I’ve been sent here to suffer.
To learn from Cain’s mistakes.
I’ve been sensitive enough,
To desire an end to it all.
I’ve been told that life is a dream.
Say that to the children of Palestine,
I’ve cried over news of their death.
Society considers me a wreck.
I’ve been dreaming about her,
Even when she’s been far away.
Seen her at the side of the road,
Drinking a beer, all alone.
I walked out of a moving vehicle,
Past the lovable liar and Jonathan,
Shook hands to greet the Mormon,
Arrived at the bar, our paths crossed.
We looked into each other’s eyes,
So I walked over, our problems alive.
An impish Frenchman arrived first.
Nothing a few words of hers could not deter.
He disappeared, we spoke. Her relationship,
With her girlfriend, was on the rocks,
Her ménage’e’troi with Edgardo,
Had predictably backfired.
As I’ve been fantasizing for,
If only our dreams went on,
Infinitely. If they were indications,
Of a future that exists, or becomes.
Apartment buildings filled to the brim,
With family sharing drugs & drinks,
A house shared between me and her,
With bright lights and mirrored doors.

Leon Rivera

Black and White

An apple too far to see,
Grew on the highest tree.
Forbidden beyond delight,
Delicious, yet so unripe.

We do not mix, you and I.
I’m dark and brown,
You’re blonde and white.
I see all of the darkness.
You see all of the light.
I’m as strange as they come.
You’re as simple as can be.

We make our choices.
We choose our poisons.

Without darkness,
Without light.

Love, with a broken heart.
Whose ruptured valves bleed wildly,
On countless pieces of clothing,
And a host of broken bones.

I will listen,
To your musings,
To your pain.

I will remember,
All you do,
All you say.

Even if I say “I decided,
To remember to forget.”

I want you to be the Radha,
To my ailing Krishna.
I want you to be the Mary,
To my broken Christ.

I would die for you,
If our lives were on the line.
Take a bullet for you,
My partner in crime.

Now say, those magic words,
“Nothing, no nothing, is okay.”
Except for You and I,
And our happily distorted lives.
Bonnie to my broken Clyde.

And on the day we die,
We will travel past phantoms,
With flushed faces, who live
With children, resting outside
In the benches, under the gray sky.
In nature’s waiting room,
Trained tigers are shackled,
Surrounded by stone walls.
Behold, a terrifying concrete
Gothic gate, with doors as tall and
Thick as trees, with obsidian clasps.

You and I, will meet inside.
Of this magnificent cathedral,
With fires, golden goblets and candelabra.
Filled to the brim, with Christ’s blood.
Which spills on velvet red rugs.
And a fine old gentleman, sits in a bench.
His stare welcomes us. He whispers
Into your ear. Something I cannot hear.
“A place, where all of our secrets reside.
Welcome, to the life inside.”

Leon Rivera