6 results for 'yvonne de la vega'
Cool Chick & the GirlPart One: Instant Messaging
When I get home, first thing I doI go online click on my Boo,He loves his cool chickher satyrical view,"hey baby hey baby what's up nothing, you?"And we just go on till well after 2and we laugh like you laugh when online. I got a cold Rolling Rock and MentholsBobtails cats on waterfallsof satin wheremy pillows call my name...But here he is,and beautiful,sending words in chamomile,with honey likea salve for Mondays flame..Then it's time for disconnection,sad I cannot add inflection,yet our exchange is still perfection,when his wordsrecall... (more)
When Ted told me he was God
I said, "Nuh, uh."
"Ted ... but I think you're an Angel"
"C'mon now ... that's how we all got into this mess in the first place."
I asked him, "If you're God, do you want me to get down on my knees and worship you?"
And he said, "HELL NO! ... but, I want to talk to you,there's something I got to tell you."His soft fuzzy beard covered almost everything but those honest blue eyes that at that moment felt so good to look into, almost innocently clear,and he took my hands."It's gonna get bad here.I'm worried about you. After the King... (more)
The muse of Merilene is left behind and seeks adoption.Yet there is not one I can name that is worthy of the option.Requirements to collaborate include the ability to state,a truth in sing song radiance with consciousness that lean againsta formula of Peace and Loveas planetary precedence.
The muse of Merilene I have rallied to adoptBut I have super ego and Merilene did not,She walked her talk and talked to rock'n organize the word, she spoke in tones of relevanceher elegance like Bird.She was spoken bebopLaughter rag mopClassical pop, And I can hear her nowcause that Merilene, no she... (more)
In Being My Father’s Daughter-for Daddy, Silverio duro de la Vega June 12, 1928 - May 8, 2007Because laying on the bare hardwood flooris too gentle and aesthetic andstill does not offerthat masochistic solace,
and because crawling under the bed to weepis only an instinctive feral urge,it seems the next thing that might do it,that may finally satisfy andreplace the urge to cut my facewith an exacto knife,would beto break something,smash all the windows,burn my guitars,topple the piano,club the TV to pieces,slash my sofas like the D.E.A.,break all my dishes… and etc.,
Still, playback... (more)
Night arrivesand the dark becomesthe light ofyour visions'backdrop,the truth is,you are alone,and company is a time lapseeventof roll tape,no audio,mouths flappingsoundlessly,dramaticarms flailing,and windthrough teethwhistles.Still, there isone silhouettethat remains back litso the faceis unrecognizable,the reapersteethis the whistle you hearand you simplynod,"I know you wait...".Fighting the urge to hasten the novel to it's end,even the pages you turnsupplyincomprehensiblemeanings,others nod in agreementyet have no cluewhattime it really is.You are stillthe child facing south,your intellectin... (more)
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