I Found Myself in The Exchanging

Disguised myself in the sty of
another mans' blinking.
Those who stare
meet the faun
in arteries-sinking.

Who but me to state
the obvious?
Who but me to share
the blame
at the cost of another?

You're ugly.
And I reek of you-
I reek of your very essence.

Deny me so that I
can deny you.

Your attributes are littered
and who but the chain
will follow?

We shall swim
Through the troth's
of betrayal;
Through the abyss
of progeny

For you don’t owe me
And I do not owe you.
And though we say
that too much is selfish
and that too little is expensive

we gather our tithes
we reap what we sow
and yet
I found myself In the exchanging-

Of words
Of flirting
Of tongues
Of spit and swallow

Inside of her
I found my glory.
And with crooked hands
We celebrated filth

Fiction Collection 2010
©Bobby Ruelas

Progeny

Where you find me roaming,
the streets of Damascus
are solemn
and sudden
and barren

One must wonder
how such a playful thing
can be such a torture?

In rooms where
children orate in silence
where fear is stapled
pressed between their lips,
lancet-wrists tear the stitches

If feigning a smile
is like stardom
in hallways of debauchery,
the crooked-lamb
will look no further.

Has’t not becometh
a grown man?
Has’t not surpassed
childhood?

In a revelation
bones stretch.
Gums. Cut.
Follicles pierce;
strings of a stringy wire
Magnificent change!

And mistakes keep repeating
repeating
repeating
repeating

Fiction Collection 2009
©Bobby Ruelas

Imprisonment

The calender on the wall
etched in pencil
The mattress flat
on its' frame.
Pacing.
Pacing.
Pacing.
Pacing.
My mouth is dry
like cotton
The water is brown
like clay
And like a man
with no shame
he drinks anyway.

The toilet seat is vacant
Should I sit down?
It reeks of a malignant fume
the kind that you can almost taste
if only you could stop breathing
and for a moment
a short moment in time
I befriended its scent.
To inspire wisdom.

All the doors were locked
There's no one coming!
My hands and feet
numb as I tremble

And in that golden hour
I never looked back
Those walls
still wait
for my return!

Non-Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 2009

Adversus solem ne loquitor

It’s not the prettiest face
but at this age
who could complain?

The cracks are seeping
from her pores

I can taste them
Salt-like wounds;
inheritance of bane

I am gifted
vexed like a child
with a mind
composed and compiled

Soft like chants that hiss in threes:

Adversus solem ne loquitor
Adversus solem ne loquitor
Adversus solem ne loquitor

Tongue bites tongue
The Unich provides offspring

When the morning crow sings
we are no longer available
occupied by its’ wings.

Oh yes
they’ll sing songs
and bring
otherworldly possessions
solemn in spring.

Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 2009

Sea-Frets

I found you
In swarms of wasps-nests
I found you
At the bottom of this bottle

Under oath
I lied
In Gods’ name
I cursed

Where were you
when I entered this earth?

In the sea-frets of time?
In the ballast of current?

No...
You were no-where
no-where to be found

Fiction Collection
©Bobby Ruelas 2009