I’m Drifting

It beats to a familiar rhythm

unbeknownst to the those whose

limbs can’t find home

or solace

in the drums or

colors or


of the Carnival.

My heart rarely bleeds.

Callus does that. It protects and adds layers

and character and wisdom,

a knowing numbness

to scars that attempt to reach to the lifeblood

of the living.

But it knows

it loves

it feels

it continues to work for a world that has never


always resisting the painful



calls, rules, lashes and fears of yesterday.

I drift

between rage and melancholy

but always residing in loving hopefulness.

After all,

there is no solution without connection



love..even when it feels more

strange than Boston-black

ice in the throws of a golden Boricua summer.


I’m here.

Loving for the love of tomorrow.

An action that births a reflexive


humanism. A call for actualization

for the living, the longing

the striving and surviving long

after my bones have decayed,

my mahogany flesh has become

one with the amber grains of

my home.


that gives freedom and life

just as it takes it. That is what I

wish for Amerikkka to be

America again.

The dream often glimpsed,

toiled for,

wept over

yet locked in a labor

breached and unturned.

The stories of the ancestors reside

under shadows and stones unrolled,

rich and dark as soil unscorched by the sun

one day,

our sons will value as worth


our daughters will reign as more valuable

than the thorned crowns of patriarchy

we mount upon their heads,

and knowledge will rule

as a matter of love,

of law,

of fact.

Justice requires



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