Ticklish

And as I lay here
in this bed
I found myself
in another place
Where both you and I
were together, happy
as can be
Living in a warm
cozy-home near the sea

There were children playing there
About two or so
Boy and a girl
I was such a proud father

But when I awoke
from this coma
only my mother was
standing by my side
Old, tired, and withering

waiting patiently to remind us
of how I first came to play
notes, measures, and melodies
that once moved audiences
Never making mention
of my wife or kids or
that old enchanted house
by the sea

So I decided not to ask
It may be for the best
My memories like scars
tickle as they scratch!


Fiction Collection 2009
©Bobby Ruelas

Limber

All the way down
the narrow way
I met an abandoned boy
who was weeping restlessly.
And through those heaving
breaths, a sigh of relief
managed to escape his lips,
"She left me here to ROT!"
"Really? Well how about that;
did you deserve it?
"Of course not! No-one deserves
to be left alone!"
"Hey look at it this way
at least you learned that
no-one should be left alone."

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 2009

Our Fingers Like Talons

For the last time
I told you, I don't
want to have anything
to do with you anymore!
Don't you ever listen?
Oh poor little girl
how I love when you
pretend to be something
that you are not!
Are your multiples
getting the best of you?
Who are you today?
Purple? Blue? Black?
Look! I'm running again
What line are you going
to throw this time
to slow me down?

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 2009

The Greatest Poem You'll Ever Read

The great thing about poetry
is that it is never
the same the second
third, fourth
or hundredth time
you read it.
It is solid in every word
Though interpretation,
that's a different
thing entirely
On some level
you begin to pity
the ol' bastard
then the next
thing you know
you are the ol' bastard
smoking cigarettes
sipping whiskey
and writing poems
that no-one wishes
to read.

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

Expensive

She walked up to me
and whispered
"I'm tired of being broken
can you fix me?"

I said, "Honey, there
aren't even enough
words in The Bible."

She looked at me
with a bright-blank stare
confused, because
she was expecting
something really big

"I'm tired." I said
Of being a tool
There were many times
that I spoke a fortune
and this time-
well this time I've had enough!
My words are too expensive
to give away for free

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

Early-Evening Doldrums From A Local Cafe

There is something funny
about the way
she is looking at me
Not quite the stare
Not quite the glance
but from here, from where I'm sitting
it's hard not to miss
those blue-green eyes.

Pucker up!
The lips are covered
in marooned-red
and the mascara-
well, the mascara
seems to be running
down the sides
of her rosy cheeks.

I should walk up
and ask, "How's the day?"
No! That'd be too frank
I might scare her away
But from here, from where I'm sitting
the view is perfect
Why would I want
to mess that up?
Why would anyone?

Fiction Collection
©BobbyRuelas

"What's the return policy?"

We are pocked with holes
living suburban lives
in the calmest of euphoria's

In simple homes
where the simplest of people
demand the most
complicated of things

where imagination runs
wild and innovation is
the grandest of luxury.

I can only hope
that tomorrow will bring
the most different of things

because once the
holes are filled
another one leaks.

God! I hope
my mother kept
a receipt.

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

The Lukewarm

You and me both
had a plan
A big plan;
to live the lives
we only read
in storybooks

And to my surprise
only one of us managed
to live that life

"Oh Bobby, you do it
to yourself. You are no
better nor worse than he
how could you give up now
only 22 years in-
into a world that shows
no sympathy for the weak?"

It was only a matter of time
before the ends began to split
or until they just
needed to be
stitched back up again

I don't really remember
I don't remember
which came first
the sewing
the thread
or the pin?

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

Soil

I made the terrible mistake
of letting you
leave that night.
We made love
then made love some more
You turned your shoulder
I didn't understand.

Quite frankly, I
didn't really care
I was happy
happy you were there
laying besides me.
We were immovable
invisible through time

Though I must admit
It was a clever decision
to have let you go
because there is no way
we could ever be
together again.

Maybe in twenty years
when you are ready
to settle down
Perhaps in another life
when we are both compost
buried beneath the soil?

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

Half Passed Eleven

Well it’s about
noon I suppose
and i’ve been doing
some thinking.

What’s a man to do
with all things natural
and all things acquired?

Well it’s about
noon I suppose
and it’s about that
time for some coffee.

I need a cigarette
I need cough syrup
my throat is bleeding
and i can’t seem
to get enough.

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas

Mirrors

I

You left it all behind
just up and left
to a brand new town
to a brand new city
where strange people
ware strange faces
and say strange things.

"But wait; this is
going to help you
forget everything!
You will succeed
your battle through
this wretched life!

And yet
you still believe
she left you
like the tapeworm
when done feeding.

You were comfortable
You were at ease."
God! How could I
have been so naive?

Years, they did pass
and I found
myself waking up
one morning
in a very different state.
"I'm not depressed
anymore!" I remember saying.

Ranting and hissing
I continued to ramble
about how I needed
to change.

That morning
I did just that!
I picked up my body
sat at my computer
and began to register
for some spring semester
classes. Only that time
I needed something
a little more physical
Something more
self-sufficient.

So I decided to take
a gym class
And as months passed
I began to notice
how much I liked
the change.

II

A friend phoned
from out of town
and made some small talk
just to see how I was doing
just to see if i was okay
I said, "Of course,
never better!"

He later asked, "How would you
like to accompany me
to the good town
of San Antonio?
We could really use
another roommate
and another singer."

He was a genuine fellow;
a scholar at best!
So I thought about this
for a few good days.

There were some new things
I had learned that summer;
some new feelings developed
over a girl I had
yet to know!

And in those few
good days
I decided to move
because I
was very certain
that music was
the one thing
I definitely wanted
to pursue.

Not some little girl
not some personal vendetta!
Music. Just music!

But I was wrong
in just two weeks...
Sex! Dirty sex!

The parade!
The parade!
I was getting distracted.

By the time I made my way
down the line
the only one
that I remembered
was you! Yeah you
with your pretty little mouth

and your dark black hair
and your light-mocha skin
You know who you are!

The forbidden fruit
in the garden
that only allowed
one bite
one taste;
one unforgettable taste!

So here I am
reflective-self
puncturing holes
into this lame excuse
of a body

I am trying to be
physical again
but my mental state
is no longer capable
of allowing my body
to be physical.
And i've lapped this lap
380,160 times too many!

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 09.03.09

Smile

Where do you go
when there is nothing left
when there is nothing more
than a cluster-fuck;
a mirage of thoughts
that never get better?

Tell me, please do tell
Because after years
of embarrassment, it seems
there is no-one there
to change those thoughts.

There is only you,
yourself, and your mind,
who can rightfully withdraw
from the lackadaisical thought
of becoming something less;

something less expensive,
something less attractive.
For in our own lunacy
we must regulate
the enormity of fluid

which governs pluripotent stimuli.
Oh you ghastly ritual,
how dare you slip
the tongue when there
is no-one there to see

what a treacherous mind
you can be?
Oh Riddle me this,
riddle me this!
I’ve done the math

enough to believe
in a self that does not grieve.
Would Jesus-carpentry
spare the earth
from the cosmic-floating sea?

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 07.03.09

After Mourning

He's really just sleeping
Some place we cannot be
Some place we cannot dream
For in this waking life
We are existent
Resistant to sleep.

"I will find you friend
And bring
Her to you!
So that we could
Have some talks
About how she
Ruined everything!"
04.18.09


Impetuous

Through seemingly
Immaculate perfection,
You swam through the sea
Like the great leviathan
Of the deep!

Your hands,
Yes they were steep
When they touched
Arching backs!

And I,
Confounded in pride
Ignored the antiquities
Of the great prophets.
05.03.09


The Night I Woke Up Alone

Touched by uncanny hands
Through a valency
That can only form
Tabloid temperament

The great Nietzsche
Once proclaimed:

"Even by virtue of my descent,
I am granted an eye beyond
All merely local, merely nationally
Conditioned perspectives;
It is not difficult for me
To be a "Good European."

As she is
In my bed
It is not difficult for me
To be a "Good American"
Much less a "good individual."
05.22.09

Taken from The Non-Fiction Collection

©Bobby Ruelas

A Modern Method to Reduce Stress

A Modern Method to Reduce Stress
By: Bobby Ruelas

Subtle hallucinations obstruct my mind;
for i cannot bare the sight.

Feather tickles toe as earlobe tickles hand.

A straw balances a heart on a skillet
as arteries propel to adjacent breasts.
The woman is curvy as she runs glass

through a child's head; yeah he too laughs
for she is unaware
that she has hands for feet.
A harmonious incest;
What a modern lament!

The ravenous stare in euphoric calm
as i make my way
out the back door.
To my left, the lady in the milk-dress
extends her arm.
Red and black streaks,
supple breasts; that passive stare.
“To whom do i owe my pardon?”, I ask.

Her mouth opened wide
and let out a hideous yell:

“WHO BROUGHT YOU HERE!?”

Tantalizing tentacles began
to emerge from her spine.

The tree in the corner;
of a reddish-orange
of a yellowish-red
of a teal, myrtle-green
begins to turn black.

The house is on fire;
another woman’s hair
in-flames.
The writing on the walls;
“I hate today”.

My mouth like tar
is an abominable machine
with iron pistons
and i’m kissing a martini glass;
the Goddess in red lingerie.
I am kissing
the red martini
painted on the lips
of her porcelain-face.
The tits are robust;
They are robotic.

I’m tearing
at the flesh
and from her bosom
I taste chalk;
A salty beige.
A premium model;
One of a kind:
Serial # 011235813
But am I really pleasing the machine?

The triplets: Red, yellow, and black
walk across the room
Like snakes, they stare
as she arches her back.

A collage of Sicilian asses
gather-round the ceiling.

Decomposition on the rug.

In unison they all shout:

“WHO BROUGHT YOU HERE!?”

When I look at my hands
I slowly begin to disappear.

The air forms ripples
as its waves excite chasms!
I am conscious and unconscious.

Suddenly, everything disappears...
0 1 1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89 144 233 377 610 987 1597 2584 4181 6765

It’s everywhere.
It’s everything.
Silence.
Dead silence.
I rest my case.

Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas