Category: Brian Duran-Fuentes

  • Underwater Computer – Brian Duran-Fuentes

    Hurricanes

    Behind computers, you were telling me,
    How wonderful are hurricanes.
    School’s out, work is cancelled,
    the grass curls up like a cat in heat,
    we blind the windows with wood
    and check on television for their arrival
    like rock stars landing on the shore.

    The waters are like feathers
    motioning the streets.

    And in the eye, we go out to the store
    for strawberries,
    and candles,
    and laundry detergent,
    and beer,
    hearts of palm in brine.

    The waters are like feathers
    and a serpent roars.

    I wish they would warn you, you were telling me,
    I am not here to gather your dead,
    I have no use for your rooftops,
    but I want the glass vase by the window, branches,
    the dreams of guardian dogs.
    I imagine waking up in the morning,
    to listen to the frogs on pillars of stone.

    Chaoskamfp 

    Cellphone flashlight full blast,
    above the sneering grin,
    I found a ghost at bay,
    the Canaanite at clash,
    Saint Christopher in flesh, 
    began to bark at dawn,
    a bark from old teeth’s gleam,
    at threshold stuck in vain.
    The ghost wanted return
    to my bedroom headspace, 
    back to waters nuzzling, 
    the neck to stare at god.
    I longed to cast the ghost 
    beyond my backyard door
    to rid my home of shit.
    Were the ghost to bite me?
    Would I instead first bite
    in vengeance for my dreams?
    Perhaps the first sunbeam
    by happenstance dripped in.
    In fight I was to fail:
    mistook the mother beast,
    no saint but Tiamat.
    Hairs grey, the belly swells,
    the sunrises are scant.
    I lowered the cellphone
    to let the mother run by.
    If given the choice to fight,
    share beds with Tiamat.

    Clock Out Loading Screen

    Swayed,
    pierced in the day,
    on water, gleaming megalopolis,
    sinking balconies rendered,
    in texture graphics distorted,
    bodies for assets beyond the skybox.
    Picture the hallways empty
    while everyone fails to sleep.
    They suffer no shadows.
    They worship no name.

    Regigigas

    Trumpet by the steel pipe
    jazz lick by the steel pipe
    echo as a rival
    shadow as a rival
    city drains are empty
    working hours are empty
    trumpet by the steel pipe
    old sax by the steel pipe
    and yellow brick landscape
    dead factory landscape
    crimson mustang fire
    lawyer billboard fire
    old sax by the steel pipe
    swing dance by the steel pipe
    and winners left unnamed
    and losers left unnamed
    just a mirror blood bond
    just a twin tone blood bond
    Armin Küpper pipeline
    clap echo jam pipeline
    in the footage daylight
    in approaching daylight
    I don’t want sacred sleep
    but I need sacred sleep
    old sax by the steel pipe
    drone doom by the steel pipe
    went to see my father
    dreamt I had a father
    beyond the strip mall doors
    swimming pool strip mall doors
    museums for the French
    mild salsa for the French
    blonde man said you can’t cross
    the bus you take can’t cross
    but here once stood my home
    Monsanto took my home
    old sax by the steel pipe
    cellphone by the steel pipe
    your paycheck has gone up
    your mortgage has gone up
    blood pressure has gone up
    ocean tides have gone up
    these lines of text digress
    to wonder if in verse
    the mind finds bastion
    the horses hear trumpets
    but only you can hear
    the silence in the brass
    old sax by the steel pipe
    trochees by the steel pipe
    and iambs stepping back
    an echo stepping back
    wrong foot forward after
    twist the ankle after
    never managed learning
    how to play squash either
    save file overwritten
    poem overwritten
    battle forward ready
    Regigigas ready
    rain in appendages
    moss in appendages
    old sax by the steel pipe
    chiptune by the steel pipe
    command that which is caught
    I made that which is caught
    in rock
    in ice
    in steel
    in spark
    in drake
    old sax by the steel pipe
    roaring by the steel pipe
    never do we wonder
    what materials travel
    what goods we get in trade
    language is a battle
    culture is a battle
    know what types you’re up against