This is LA heat.

Chamoy y Mango, raspados y

A dios mio,

pinche caluroso!

Walk up Sunset Blvd,

Make a left on Park Avenue

Walk past the corpse,

Step on last years trash and smile.

“Bienvenidos a la Laguna”

Oye, chico, mira a las tortugas

Son babes, como tu

Cuanto cuesta la jamaica?

Paletas, paletas, paletas

Aguas!

Pelotas, pelotas, pelotas

Aguas!

Pistolas, pistolas, pistolas.

Warm weather cradles anxiety to rest,

It cools hot blood bent to burn brothers

Sisters laid out on green grass, yellow dress, Sunday’s best

Dog eyed children, puppies and spring kisses.

Mickey’s bottles and baby carriages.

Shirtless men and bald women.

Gringos and chinos

Todo el mundo está viviendo.

Some lay for pleasure, some lay for a living

Tent city in an apartment city

Grass stained and burnt faces lounge alrrededor de las esquinas,

While chingonas and tourist comen tostilocos y frutas.

The rain has stopped,

And golden cream billows over Egyptian cotton.

As a child, feeling fingers

And cheekbones burn cool, I look

To the gutter.

A semblance of chroma.

The oil reflects the sky,

A universe where

Purples and greens smell like

Diesel.

Friends nearby,

Tyson, Ray-Ray, Thomas, Jo Jo.

Crescent moons nestled in ebony.

No need to fear life’s sting or pang.

Syringe in soft skin… not now.

Remembering the first time we said “Bitch”

While straddling a swing-set.

Our skin a desert.

Blood turned to crimson emulsion while

Ashes fell like pollen.

We could taste the crunch our footsteps made,

As our legs shuffled dust.

The street lamp signaled mom’s cries.

Our hearts

For every two beats, gave one away.

The tempo has changed.

Once innocent games,

Never remains.

I once saw a man,

At Union Station.

Amongst a conglomeration of people,

Who walked faster than solipsistic whims.

 

He screamed, everyone heard

Yet no one listened

“Back in 1989! Two bags for 20!

Yo, fuck this shit!

I’m straight from South Central,

Punk!

Fuck with me!”

 

He carried everything with him.

Pockets full of rocks,

Hands scorn by tugging thorns.

Suffering turned to Hatred.

 

Everyone walked on. His outward aggression

Fell flat

Like his future

on the concrete.

 

Tears strangled like a closed faucet.

His skin burned black not by heat,

But by neglect.

 

People know this. You see

The shame on their

Faces.

Those who survived incineration.

 

He stops yelling and,

Walks on.

 

To nowhere for nobodies.