Preface (This is Disembodied Chican@ Poetics)
Warning (Read This Spanglish at Your Own Risk of Illegitimate Literacy Both Legal and Not)
chicano lowriders bent out of shape
the sky lines waiting for the borders to fall
tortillas get caught by border partrol smuggling corn
monsanto getting upset at their own allergic tragedy
mario waiting at the curb for jesus to come and drink a 40 ounce with him
we get lost in translation
somewhere in between having insight of barrio border politics
we lose the tongue of our spirituality
all the layers of burgers and green chili
walking around with conquistador manifestos
stuck to our chest
we forget how to open the inner burrito
needind breath needing life
we forget about the aliens that are not illegal
we forget about the aliens stuck to our d.n.a.
our forefathers and foremothers are part of the tolteca sky
our foremothers and mothers before have the eye of quetzalcoatl in their eye
did we get lost crossing the border too many times
did our d.n.a. deer tracks get lost in translation
we are the seeping blue sun stuck underneath our nails
did all the femicide in mexico just give us permanent amnesia
because when you kill the indigenous female body you destroy the indigenous memory
we are carrying the trauma of post colonial now que no?
this isn’t about 500 hundred years ago
as much as its about 500 bodies getting buried without names right now
this year somewhere along the back of turtle island
buried not burned. burned not buried
whether its south dakota or at la frontera, in first nations or california
el cuerpo indigena va desapareciendo
y la mujer indigena va desapareciendo
si se pierde la mujer se pierde la memoria y se pierde el espiritu
ellos ya saben esto. lo saben muy bien
nobody talks about the brujeria of the narco trafficante
its too much to consider in the blood bath
prancing underneath mass graves
the bones of men’s castles
the screeching 20 inch spinners
of bullet proof trokas
bouncing on this red earth
localized inside the matrix
of just another day in the narco trafficante
what does this tortilla have to do with narco trafficante logic
nobody wants to cross the line between a u.s. or a mexican drug king
this is the prison of american freedom. underneath what n.a.f.t.a. busted open
like seeds we get buried underneath these notions not knowing when we will sprout
over and over we will sprout. until we cannot be handled any more. until we become
the mass awakening of the forrest again. they cannot destroy the jungle. they cannot
destroy the earth. we are the waking light inside of these dreams. they cannot
destroy the masses. they might be able to destroy humanity. but the earth will recycle
will acknowledge. she will leave bones behind of our memory. like dinosaurs.
she will leave behind a set of clues of her herstory. of her passed lives. like wrinkles
on hands. she will leave the dust prints. shes the truth keeper. no matter what.
she’s the truth keeper
bribing the histories of our chicano mexicano american hispano identity
you might get lost in the notion that the united states census made up the term
hispanic in the 1980’s. but somewhere before that. some hispano notion of being
labeled as colonized by spain. to be a part of history. to be part of the world through
this lense. aching truth. aching memory. aching in the abandonement process of losing
the sense of self. to oracles and sense of truth. we are the ones we were waiting for
to discover notions and emotions of ghosts. caught inside this paradigm. caught
inside what needs to be considered and reconsidered.
this aching ghosts of what it means to be emotion. ghosts and trust and truth.
we are the waking light . we are the only light left. to give back to reconsider. to emulate.
we are the waking ghosts of today. trailing with the braids of our truth.
you are more mestizo than what you want to consider.
when fear becomes the god of our emotional truth
the rambling trails left over on the other side of the mirror nobody wants
to consider that we are just lost tongue.
the word no one is a farse. its too harsh for most ears.
you are just seen as toxicity
alberto ran into the courtyard to find a mayan temple on top of bed he used to sleep in
when he was too little to not think of his mexican memory attached to his american dream
there are too many places too hide underneath olmeca heads
my father was a tolteca on the weekends before his drinking made him forget his hawk tongue
i don’t imagine that this notion that we are all mestizos boasts too well
the colonial project wants to re insist. re impose on these sacred holy grounds
that we are all just spanish. well actually no it doesn’t . it wants to insist that they are all just spanish.
and you’re not. this notion. qualifies . disqualifies. you become the disquality
open the tongue underneath your tortilla
you are the savouring moment. inside this metaphor
you are the opening wing bleeding on the downtown plaza
they are waiting for you to become ocean again
you are mestizo migrant. traveling on this red earth.
maybe the future holds passports about mestizaje. border tongue