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



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s