Cuando you break my heart, you break my heart
Cuando you leave my broken heart and my broken heart refuses to sit still
Cuando you don’t think too good and you think you don’t need my broken heart
Cuando you realize that broken hearts no se dejan and love again
Cuando broken hearts don’t remember they loved you
Cuando broken hearts find great amores en other hearts that have also been broken
Cuando 2 broken hearts tell each other, “Que chingen a 20” let’s make it, me and you
Cuando your Corazon dejado points out the felicidad of the hearts you have broken
Cuando your Corazon dejado sends I love you texts and betrays you
Cuando las canciones de tu Corazon dejado no longer skirt broken hearts
Cuando your Corazon dejado gets lonely in blue houses
Cuando las viejas mas flacas y mas bonitas are nothing like broken hearts
Cuando your Corazon dejado can’t ride its motorcycle away from memory
Cuando eventually it happens and you miss the poemas and cariñitos of broken hearts
This is when you write a song
This is when you write a poem
Por que para eso de amores viejos
You must remember
Cuando you break my heart
You break
my heart
Friday, June 11, 2010
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Why Pinta Vatos Write Poems about Hood
Why do barrio streets only have cholos and ancianos?
Why are barrio streets caked with brown skin, trabajos and pobrisitos?
Why do vatos in the pinta only paint poems with the aesthetics of their hood?
Is it cause everything a vato knows in the pinta he learned from his hood?
Is it cause the pinta vato never read too good, never dug on Milton & Hemingway?
Is it that poetic terms can not be blog linked to him so he can find his fancy voice?
Is it really just a list, lacking complex metaphors,
when to the pinta vato building bridges between memories
reconstructs a textual him he’s never known?
Is it really just a haphazardly thrown together pile of clichés,
when the pinta vato from within prison walls can reconstruct home?
To the pinta vato there is no such thing as language economy
No such thing as too long, too angry, too much,
No such thing as not smart enough, not read enough
There is no such thing as language economy,
when your whole life no one has ever let you speak
Why are barrio streets caked with brown skin, trabajos and pobrisitos?
Why do vatos in the pinta only paint poems with the aesthetics of their hood?
Is it cause everything a vato knows in the pinta he learned from his hood?
Is it cause the pinta vato never read too good, never dug on Milton & Hemingway?
Is it that poetic terms can not be blog linked to him so he can find his fancy voice?
Is it really just a list, lacking complex metaphors,
when to the pinta vato building bridges between memories
reconstructs a textual him he’s never known?
Is it really just a haphazardly thrown together pile of clichés,
when the pinta vato from within prison walls can reconstruct home?
To the pinta vato there is no such thing as language economy
No such thing as too long, too angry, too much,
No such thing as not smart enough, not read enough
There is no such thing as language economy,
when your whole life no one has ever let you speak
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