A Bacon Man

I say jeez, and let my teeth Break the extra crispy bacon. How heaven is it, the blend Of pig flesh and fat, on a frying pan. Perhaps I should have said, sweet Jesus, How taste is an epiphany, Like love or lust, a sudden realization That something is turning gold. How genius, for man…

The Man Hypothesis

Swell, how we make it work, the sacrifices and pleas. We are like a compartmentalized train, The engine making us travel through The scenery and the tunnels, Day and night, the long road to a place Far far away, embracing the sun and the moon And the ever-blurring dusk, Which makes you return home, No…

Superman

  No man, not even Superman Is immunized to fear. When your Cape is in the laundry, you have to step Forward as the mortal you are, kryptonite On the inside, burning like coal. You body needs to carry every carriage, every organ, Connected together by the embroidery Of blood vessels and nerves. You realize…

Stumbling Man

Considering I’m told, that I’m Just a specimen battling my own badass self The boldness of a bison, that I feel Is a residue of my grandfather’s genes. And still, I look like a bison, Broad chested, the top half bigger than the bottom, More flesh than muscle. In this self, Nagging now, after 41…

Y

Y is for the yak who muscles up To become a bison. Narcissus On mirrors, the buff brawned Hercules. Y is for yellow, from jaundice to gold Of skin tone and glow of youth. Y is also a little chromosome That make the testicles sink And the keratin sprout and a little Soprano voice go…

Trans America

I paddled past Ellis Island Past the statue of liberty, Batholdi’s legacy With the torch of freedom staring me in the eye. New Amsterdam awaited me My trans-ocean journey, my migration To a new America, a land like no other. I was finally the wrapping around my heart A land of my own right –…

Bond

The essence of a string that is plucked Into minuscule waves of perfect harmony The beauty of a muse played by musician Four boughs and bows bonding in mesmerism Gifted are the gift bearers of providence Violins are the toys of maestros And they play, bosoms bared through lacey gowns Temples hoisted and fluttering to…

Neanderthal Man

It seems when I was little I used to ask my mom “what is difficult – shaving every day Or giving birth?”. My mom used to laugh at that. Seemingly she knew from experience and the lack of it. I on the other hand, do hard labor in front of the mirror The stubs are…

The Male Nude

I didn’t know whether I was a muse Or a model, I only knew I was the reclining man And you, were the stroke-maker. You stroked Your elbow with a musical bow, only to flow back up Your elbows were like strings on a weaving machine Going and to and fro, muling together The pieces…