Audio Poem: Friscopino

https://clyp.it/43r445mn

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The Bite

The bite comes
In the gaps between
Your teeth where
Spears could not
Penetrate for so long

The spaces between
Your eyes
Where time flies
And lands whether
You’re having fun
Or not

It all comes
Back to bite
You

In the ass
On the lobes
Of your ears

On your
Lower back
Where columns
Of spine diminish
Over time

On the bridge
Of your nose where
Dreams ascend and
Perch and reality
Gets crossed as well
As your eyes

The bite
Comes

Wordless
Whether you dot
Your “I’s and cross
Your “T’s”

Its indentation
In your mind as
You try to move
Out of the crosshairs

It comes back
To bite you

So bite back
While you
Can

And don’t
Forget to
Smile

© 2017 Tony Robles

Santana

i was walking
into a mural

the watercolors
and oils splashed
across my skin and
dripped towards my
feet

i felt like a paintbrush
on legs looking for
a canvas

and i heard a man’s
voice call out: Hey,
you look like Santana!

i looked and i saw a
brown finger
pointing at me

the man leaned
against the wall
of a donut shop
taking sips of something
in a brown paper bag

i looked into
the donut shop
window at my
reflection

i don’t look like
no goddamned
Santana! I said

I’ve run into
so many people
with Santana stories

“I used to play with
Santana
I parked
Santana’s
car
I walked Santana’s
dog
I kicked Santana’s
ass in high school
I stole Santana’s
hat at a party
I found Santana’s
guitar pick at a garage
sale (along with his afro
pick)
I stood beside Santana
at the urinal at the drive-
in and i saw Santana back
out of a parking spot and hit
another car. I got out and
said, “It’s the other guy’s
fault! I saw the whole
thing!
Santana autographed
my terry cloth towel
at the beach, a great
big S in black ink.

Everybody has
a Santana story

it’s like walking
into a
mural

(c) 2017 Tony Robles

Art, Poetry, Music

the young brother
can be seen at the
Bart station

Civic Center
or maybe
on Montgomery

in his hand
are a stack
of papers

the pages sometime
slip from his fingers
and land on the floor
becoming soiled with
grease and oil

and he stands at the
bottom of the escalators
greeting people in transit

selling pages of
what appear to be
scribbles from every
imaginable direction

what is it?
i ask him

art, music and
poetry
he answers

and the lines
on the page fly
in all directions

a scratching on
the walls of
the mind

and itch that
never ends

on a page

$3.00 a piece

(c) 2017 Tony Robles

Walk of Fame

Uncle Remy
loved movies
and going to
Chinatown

when i was a kid
he would come
to our house

he was a
cook on a ship

what ship, or ships
i don’t
know

but he had been
all over the world

he once bought
pig ears from the butcher,
marinaded it in vinegar
and gave me one

it was good

Uncle Remy, you
never knew when
he was pulling your leg

He once called
me, claiming he was
on an overseas phone
from France

and another time
he told me he had a house
in the Philippines and that
a large snake had gotten in
through the bathroom

Both the snake
and overseas phone
stories were corroborated
as true

Uncle Remy loved
his movies and his
tomato beef chow mein

and he loved
to keep you guessing

and in Chinatown we
walked toward a restaurant
after a movie

we moved in the crosswalk
when Uncle Remy stopped
suddenly, as if he’d seen
a ghost

Mr. Van Johnson! Uncle Remy said.

It was a man in a brown overcoat
crossing to the other side
of the street

when he got to the
other side, he turned and
waved to us with both hands

Who’s that? i asked

Uncle Remy’s eyes were
held in some kind of memory

“That’s Van Johnson, he’s a very
famous actor”

We waved
back

He wasn’t pulling
my leg

(c) 2014 Tony Robles

Manila Airport Chronicle

I’m tripping over my feet
My thoughts
My tongue is stuck to
The roof of my mind

I walk forwards when I
Should walk backwards

I feel like I was shipped
Here in a baliktad box

My boarding pass is a
Tongue stamped with
Words that I don’t know

And my tongue is a
A slag of mud

The voices sing over
My head and my thoughts
Trip over my words
Trip over my feet
And there is no rate
Of exchange for the words
I cannot give or the heart
I give freely yet skips
Over it’s own beat and
Rhythm in amplitudes of
Waves unmeasured

I am tripping over my feet
As I watch my people walk
Softly upon the earth

I follow them in the
Airport in Manila

With my
Eyes

As my feet
Try to find
The words
I keep tripping
Over

(C) 2017 Tony Robles.