2 0 2


If you let me-- I will.
If you won't-- I'll still.

1 0 1

6:36 a.m.

empty cans of mother
and old songs that remind you of high school
on repeat, grey-scale memories replayed over and
under a sky outside so still that even the crows
wait with patience, the hues of the morning
hesitant to disrupt their dreaming;
thick clouds of yesterday part ways
for lighter shades
as an engine starts—
a mumble of farewells and a passenger door

everyone has somewhere to be,
everyone has someone to be,
everyone has someone
and somewhere to be

except me,
lonely as the last bird in the nest to stir
and shake the night from its wings,
singing the language of sunlight as it finally
takes flight.

2 0 2

A Directional Convention Made Indescribable in Inner Conversation

We choose you
sky of blue
hanging by a thread 
as the haze erupts from factory floors
to choke our throats,
to invade our beds-

succubus of placidity, burn away
the polluted air we breathe 
and replace it with the steam the sweat 
of love for the day- we're open yet.

2 0 2

What Good?

What good is a mouth?

when issuing naught but whored out words
of broken promises sputtering
in the gutter of a mind
that does not understand
the heart?

when kisses turn sour and
leave a soul wanting;
not for more but for escape,
regression into a dimension
called distrust?

and when smiles turn
inexorably down into frowns
caught in the wrinkles of time
lacking reason or rhyme
I ask you…

what good is a mouth when the whole world is stale without you?

0 0 0

Even If You Super-Size It

I finally discovered a way to describe it,
The way my soul feels when you’re there inside it:
I woke up this morning thinking of you
And my brown eyes felt so bright, it was as if they were blue.
“Little ballerinas of you performed in my head,
Their pirouettes so inviting I leapt out of bed.”
My lungs breathed such ease, yet my heart was a flutter
With flies in my belly as airy as butter.
A string quartet played a waltz in my veins,
A marching band too that drummed over my pains.

But I couldn’t keep the corners of my stupid mouth down,
And walked out the door looking like a damn clown.
So, that was annoying…
And oddly I was enjoying
The thought of the townspeople shuddering in fear,
At the fault of you, and that fond memory, my dear.
I’ll go through the day with you in this thought,
And laugh so hard I’ll get a blood clot. 
Darling, I wish you knew of course this was why,
I said I was content and was ready to die. 
You are, as you know, my very best friend,
And will be even after time will supposedly end.
I hope that you know,
That I’ll go
Where you go
Wherever you go 
… even to the fiery depths of Hell, yo.

7 0 7

Master of Night (For Cats, Large and Small)


Wild fevered summer cat

crouched in night forest

leaf-rustle, ear-swivel

golden eye-gleam, nostril flare

smell trail, chase drumming

hot blood of jugular pulse on tongue



Barest winter, bones spare

as naked trees knock

hungry ghost at door

I crouch, invite you in ("I am not yours")

eyes warn, my sofa, my fire

recline like buddha, one golden orb

fixed on me



Cat-mind drifts back

ten thousand years

desert goes for days

sun-blaze on fur, sandpaper tongue

drink from Tigris, cool forgiving


Mate with five heated slit-eyed beauties

consider symbiosis, my ancestors

pile grain into a barn too slow to catch mice

while naked two-legged kittens

play with your children.


Humans will worship yet bury you alive--

our dead won't be lonely

The mice in the barn will find

Master of Night

that no death nor game is too cruel for you



Now, fates joined

after your hunt, before mine

yawn and blink at the sun

bury my face in electric fur

you drape a lazy velvet paw

over me purrs reverberate


All is right in this universal chase

sun-selves,  shadow-selves

predator and prey

for life love

and death



Copyright 2012 by Ann Marcaida

8 0 8

The ride I took going home.

I met a man at the back row 
of the bus ride going home—
he spoke in a drunken yet poetic
fashion on how secrets
were meant to shield the damned 
to show vulnerability and fickle
states of mind; a horizon’s length
far from being gods in the making
through piss and foul smell
of a barkeep’s breath.

He wept whiskey from his eyes
when his hand rested upon an open
cage from his chest. Melancholic
was the air around him as he subtly painted
his thoughts with a feather by the window 
wrapped in heavy moist without showing
weakness from being incomplete.

vandalized chairs made empty rows
and there seated a man who had 
stitched to his scarf.
He kept his hands tucked under 
his pockets to sway the cold—
and for the heart of me I swore
he held someone else’s life
firmly; pulsing in his grip like poetry

we have found underneath
the moon and sun—
faint is the echo I heard
when it was muffled too strongly
by an engine’s roar.

A hollow man preferred to stand
along the isle with all hopefulness 
to have form and shape; his blank
gaze focused on the dark road
ahead as he counted loudly
highway lines he had left behind
like his sins and good deeds
he had failed to commit back to 
the shadows cast by speeding steel 
and burning rubber.

That night the moon shined
brighter than I had ever seen
and a midst this painted darkness
there was a soul who walked alone 
a path paved  by hungry wolves— 
brave is the man I believed 
who is covered in frost 
during a summer night

and there I watched him fade
like a star who shined against
a bitter light-- down to
a road not taken.

Another man pondered about
depth and death;

I found myself in between a dream
who lingered in thoughts; who wrote
me down a scene I could never
hold fast as I gritted my teeth
and braced my spine from the chill.

I stepped off my stop flabbergasted
genuinely tongue-tied from a moment
not long ago had passed;

and under the moonlight and 
frantic cicadas--

only Hemingway knows of the secret
I have kept in my cage,
         in my pocket
and along the road I walk on
as I slipped my words into
folded paper

for me to open another day.

0 0 0

robbin’ souls, gobblin’
‘em down whole,
eatin’ chicken
nuggets of truth,
pissin’ in a wishin’ well,
pukin’ in the fountain of youth.
the government gave me
a free ticket to hell.
masked man,
livin’ in a trashcan,
diggin’ for some fast food scraps,
with all them other cool cats,
late night chit chats
and shootin’ freestyle raps.
no work, 
no money,
no money, no greed,
but why am I the one
runnin’ from the police,
they are stealin’ our society,
someone point me
to the land of the fuckin’ free,
I only just stole a double quarter 
pounder with cheese,
but in the end
that’s all I want,
all I really need.


0 0 0

In Da Dumos

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe…
It was a Mexican moccasin; red, white and blue.
8 adults, 20 children, a dog, chicken, and cat
To goodbye she waived, from the donkey she sat.
With a click of her spurs and a crack of her whip,
To the Supermercado Numero Dos she’d go to serve guacamole dip.
But the steed did grow tired, the steed did grow dead,
And the felt sombrero came off of her head.
The day was hot and the day was wild…
But soon to her feet came a Caucasian child.
“My room is cluttered, my toys are about”
The white kid did say with a whimpering pout.
“My mommy will take my Xbox 360 away
If in the toy box my things do not lay”
So the chica said “si”, though this was not planned
And placed a warm burrito in the young person’s hand.
With a “Swiff swiff” and “chhhhh chhh” the woman did clean
Underneath, on top and everywhere in between.
The room was a glisten the room was a glow
Then in came this white bitch with a bitchy bitch blow.
“You invade my property and go through my things!
You’ve even stolen my 4th marriage’s new diamond ring”
And in went the bony bitch fingers to our heroin’s poncho
And out came the ring that made this bitch head honcho.
“Yo no lo robé!” the Mexican woman did say
But alas, the white people did have their way…
She packed up her Lemon Pledge, duster and pan
And hitched a ride home with the Mexican garbage man.
Into the shoe this sad soul did climb
Not making a dollar, not even a dime.
Afraid of what her familia might say,
They just smiled and passed a spicy pollo taco her way.

5 0 5

strings pulling human beings
like puppets, 
dreams falling through
the holes in life’s worn pockets,
looking for change between 
couch cushions and in mirrors,
worth is measured by memories,
thoughts are spreading throughout 
my body like a deadly disease,
I’m building a city with the debris
of past years
and living there on the streets,
being kept company
by familiar ghosts,
I go to sleep counting fears,
my heart dropped to my feet
making it impossible to run
away from these feelings,
disgust underneath my fingernails 
and dust in my ears,
everything I touch turns to trash,
I can’t hear through
this storm of dishonest ash,
words are stuck in my throat,
planted with steel roots,
and I’m looping these sentences
into a silencing noose.