bikes
she is all the red square cathedrals
dipped in honey.
krasnaya, they say archaically.
to my ancient soul
she is an lp’s grooves, that smile
upon fresh rained pavement or,
gliding under the silvery stars,
cosmos borealis.
she rode her turquoise bike away
on a rainy day near the end of the world.
she had an empty wire basket on the rusted front.
five of us
we’re them’s enabler,
so the dealt is done.
burrow deep our friends,
the sun is hot salt.
them doesn’t like us,
like grapes who eats one?
we knew magic. them
died, smothered from love.
i, in time
i read somewhere that time
or their time or her time so
this magnificent quote, i thought
was not the same to any one person
and when i came across
i should take my time
how my time was different from your time
caught on a crisp autumn breeze and no more
slip by the most fluidly, scarves
and live for the times that seem to
subject to time than am i.
run away wheel
pitter patter, pink matter,
can you hear the hamster breathe?
pretty lights up resuscitation’s reach
tunnel’s end beyond reasoning up
throw god shaped lightning bolts control-
ed by a rodent spinning out of sight.
pity stares past sight,
look, pay attention, hamster matter-
s aren’t about control,
but correcting the way you breathe
and blank and bring up
how Reich sounds three things away from reach.
hamsters race along sulci reach-
ing down into depths, sight-
ing scopes to clean up
rainbows of red and red matter
that chokes, rainbow roots breathe
for you. what lies? control.
you have black holes in you that control
singular processes like when you reach
deep in your lungs for air, breathe
in singularities hamsters see under a microscope’s sight
so they can tell how the dark matter-
s. so please hurry up.
hipster hamsters know what’s up,
but up can be down if the control
room gets messed up, what’s the matter
with death riding bengal tigers that reach
for food that’s not a sight
unseen in a neuronal ocean that can breathe.
hello house. hello hal. just breathe
pops, read something to keep up
the spirits bought in a paper bag sight-
ed by cops dressed as hamsters who control-
s how now? brown cows reach
for golden status to be false matter.
vital is breathe you while mind in kept, matter
that hamsters own your to up sanity for try a, reach
than perfect more sight no knows control
small birds
i am sitting at the top of a building in the rain
there is always the now if the then was kept forgotten
the cold salt
a small bird wakes in the nest
eyes open
i like his skin too cool
the small bird cries out on the edge of the nest as the wind whips around
my heart is pattering and he sees it
i am he and he is i
it patters in time with the rain
harder and harder like the ground the bird hits
i lose them to rain down on him and he feels their sound
the pattering heart holds me still and devours me
the shadow deafens him to the birds song
the skin too cool reaches me and I am fed
i am the bird
i am the man
now i can lie like the birds and their young
Mr. Valadez is an aspiring writer who is currently attending the University of California San Diego as an undergraduate.
