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THE DEATH OF ART

from Mariposas: A Modern Anthology of Queer Latino Poetry

"Reading well is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you" - critic Harold Bloom, who first called slam poetry "the death of art"

I am not a poet.  I want to be rich and buy things for my family. 

Besides, I am sort of popular and can honestly say I’ve had a great sex life.

I am not a poet.  Georgia O' Keefe paintings do absolutely nothing for me.  I do not feel oppressed or depressed and no longer have anything to say about the President.

I am not a poet.  I do not like being called an "activist" because it takes away from those that are out on the streets protesting and fighting for our rights.

I am not a poet.  I eat poultry and fish and suck way too much dick to be considered a vegetarian.

I am not a poet.  I would most likely give my ass up in prison before trying to save it with poetry ... and I’d like it!  Heck, I’d probably be inspired.

I am not a poet.  I may value peace but I will not simply use a pen to unleash my anger.  I would fuck somebody up if I had to.

I am not a poet.  I may have been abused and had a difficult life but I don’t want pity.  I believe laughter and love heals.

I am not a poet.  I am not dying.  I write a lot about AIDS and how it has affected my life but, despite the rumors, I am not positive.  Believe it or not, weight loss amongst sexually active gay men could still be a choice.

I am not a poet.  I do not get Kerouac or honestly care much for Bukowski.

I am not a poet.  I don’t spend my weekends reading and writing.  I like to go out and party.  I like to have a few cocktails but I do not have a drinking problem regardless of what borough, city or state I may wake up in.

I am not a poet.  I don’t need drugs to open up my imagination.  I've been a dealer and had a really bad habit but that was long before I started writing. 

I am not a poet.  I can seriously only tolerate about half an hour of spoken word before I start tuning out and thinking about my grocery list or what my cats are up to.

I am not a poet.  I only do poetry events if I know there will be cute guys there and I always carry business cards. 

I am not a poet according to the scholars and academics and Harold Bloom.  I only write to masturbate my mind.  After all, fucking yourself is one of the great pleasures that solitude can afford you.

I am not a poet.  I am only trying to get attention and convince myself that poetry can save lives when my words simply and proudly contribute to “the death of art.”

A SIMPLE POEM

from Bullets & Butterflies: queer spoken word poetry

I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around

With lips that will never touch mine
read your poems out loud
so that the words are left engraved on the wall
make me feel your voice rush through me
like a breeze from Oyá

I want to hear about Puerto Rico
about sisters with names like La Bruja
about educating youth about AIDS
I want to hear about life in the Boogie Down Bronx
surviving on the Down Low
don't leave out stories about men
you have loved and still love

I want you to write poems that you will never read
press hard on the paper so that the ink runs deep
hold the pen tight so that you control the details
prove to me that I inspire you
reveal yourself between the lines
hear my praise with each flicker of the candle
Write a poem for me

Do not choose a fresh page from a brand new journal
use paper that has been crumbled and tossed
thrown out by a spineless father only to be recycled
Save a tree for future poets to write under

Rewrite me into someone more attractive
stronger than life has made me
make me tough and sexy, aggressive like a tiger
stain the pages with cum, lube, the arousal you find
at the sight of naked boys, draw me sketches
bring the words to life with images
make me a man with this poem

Read it in front of the audience
with hidden messages just for me
be real and tell me why
I am only worth a haiku

Your epics are meant for others
I already know,
use red ink to match the blood from these wounds
with brutal honesty
let me die with your last sentence

Then resurrect me with rhyme
read from your gut
let me hear the wisdom of mi abuelo in your voice
let me find my father in you
remind me of all the men that left me broken promises

In your eyes I want to see a poem
when you bring me to tears
with painful memories
buried beneath your thick skin

Between teeth gapped like divas,
I want to hear quotes from books
I never read

Make me believe you want to be a poet

Make my heart break,
tell me why you could never love me
with just a few words
leave me lost and insecure
feel the admiration of others
bask in their desire
forget that I am there

Pound your fists in the air with passion
go off about politics, poverty, machismo and hate
scream poems that don't give a fuck
about traditions, slamming or scores
save your whispers for those who make love to you

Write a poem for me that makes me want to puff a joint

A poem that loses control
unafraid to be vulnerable
for once just make me believe
it is all worth letting go
when the smoke clears
I will understand
the reason
I am just another face
in the crowd

I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around

AMERICANO

from Americano

I look at myself in the mirror
trying to figure out what makes me an American
I see Ecuador and Puerto Rico

I see brujo spirits moving across the backs of Santeros
splattered with the red blood of sacrificed chickens
on their virgin white clothes and blue beads for Yemaya
practicing religions without a roof

I see my own blood
reddening the white sheets of a stranger
proud American blue jean labels on the side of the bed

I see Don Rosario in his guayabera
sitting outside the bodega
with his Puerto Rican flag
reading time in the eyes of alley cats

I see my mother trying to be more like Marilyn Monroe than Julia De Burgos
I see myself trying to be more like James Dean than Federico Garcia Lorca

I see Carlos Santana, Gloria Estefan,
Ricky Martin and Jennifer Lopez
More than just sporadic Latin explosions
More like fireworks on el Cuatro de Julio
as American as Bruce Springsteen, Janis Joplin,
Elvis Presley and Aretha Franklin

I see Taco Bell’s and chicken fajita’s at McDonald’s
I see purple, blue, green, yellow and orange
I see Chita Rivera on Broadway

I am as American as lemon merengue pie
as American as Wonder Woman’s panties
as American as Madonna’s bra
as American as the Quinteñero’s, the Abdul’s, the Lee’s,
the Jackson’s, the Kennedy’s
all immigrants to this soil since none sound American Indian to me
as American as television snow after the anthem is played
and I am not ashamed

Jose, can you see . . .
I pledge allegiance
to this country ‘tis of me
land of dreams and opportunity
land of proud detergent names and commercialism
land of corporations

If I can win gold medals at the Olympics
sign my life away to die for the United States
No Small-town hick is gonna tell me I ain’t an American
because I can spic in two languages
coño carajo y fuck you

This is my country too
where those who do not believe in freedom and diversity
are the ones who need to get the hell out