there are borders in the tongue in the mouth

in the way we approach all the conditions that were placed

in front of us behind us . to the sides of us

we are mexican american waiting to be reborn under

a chicano sun? a rasquache sun? a pale mexican moon?

there are blood lines and blood ties to all the lands

all the way back to even before africa.

this border of refugees. these songs of tomorrow

singing in the dust of our humanity. singing in the conditions

that we are the mexican american dream

un suen~o de la vida. donde las realidades nos cuestan

mas que la cuenta son nuestra herencia. culmudada 

gathering in the stones the mortar and the brick of american paradigms

mexican jazz part 72

people want to pretend that coming across the border

is just some choice to come and take advantage of the american dream

nobody wants to talk about the sacrifice

of going back. of dying. of staying here.



you have to cross the border

knowing that everything in your life

is going to disappear. in order to

try to find in this american mexican abyss

underneath the streets of gold. underneath

the death threats. underneath your doubt

nobody talks about what it took for you to decide

to come across this journey

nobody talks about what it looked like

coming across the border knowing that

you could be raped murdered somewhere in between

but so many want to pretend you are coming

across this red blood water. this red blood of you

you are the forgotten song. waiting to be sung

on the other side of this frontera





mexican jazz part 71

a list of mexican jazz melodies and possible album titles:


a world of borderless poetry

burritos enchiladas tacos freejoles

border patrol minute men ancient songs
ghosts buried under tonantzin
the way that we reconsider
the memory of who we are
where we’re from
the border didn’t cross us we just got double crossed
the ancient ones
the hopi’s little mexican brother
mexica pancakes
mexican burgers
heroin addiction in the wrong side of the barrio
spanish corridos
mexican ballads
songs in the key of mexican F# minor
another jesus gets across the stage
mexican american bandits
the mexican holocaust
spanish fried blue corn tortilla burritos
american wrap
the ghosts of la llorona’s long lost sister
an arrangement for the massages
catastrophic conditions
the lloronas book of poems
the true freedom of mexican american identity
hispanic crisis
chicano misfits
memorable pachuco america
side stories of a mexican mother


these are barrio sonnets getting buried underneath concrete

aching to return to tonantzin para un tiempo sin fin 

they they will ache con los nombres de nuestros antepasados

for the sake of becoming true freedom caught in la lengua 

somos quien somos y comos somos we accept you as you are

despite the cut tongues and the burned codices we are all here

waiting and resurrecting todos los lenguajes de nuestra gente

para liberal . set free the ghosts and find home on turtle island

all the nombres for her. all the places of her. para vernos uno al otro

adentro de todo este caos para crear otra vez . these lives

chicano poetry and codex works

mexican jazz 69

chicano landscapes in a post trump era

we might want to call him a joke but he’s pointed

at the cancer we are needing to sink into

look at examine and reimagine

somewhere along the lines we stopped believing

that this hatred was buried in our passed

that these were all just isolated incidents

and yet here we are looking and staring at the reality

that we are the ghosts standing in the death

of our enslaved histories. all the stories we’ve

tried to bury underneath an american landscape

we are the ghosts of this haunted

waiting for resolution waiting for the comfort

of another set of condtions. to come back

and show us something different. something

outside the mirror. outside

chicano codex coloring and poetry books


mexican jazz part 68

we are the bones rattling across this turtle island

we are the names underneath stone tongues

we are all the same dream. awakened passed

any notions of race or creed. but we are born

of lines of d.n.a. that map our sinew, our blood,

our stellae. we are the day keepers  from all directions.

but the ghosts underneath our fingernails

have to be set free. so we can claim our tongues

and our homes again .

chicano codex coloring books

mexican jazz 67

these are the worlds we occupy between the red and the black

between the american and the mexican

someone might want to say just drop the mexican

you’re american now. and miss the point entirely

is the space inbetween that holds the truth. regardless

if you know spanish. regardless if you know enough english

somewhere in between. somewhere where the tongue bends

inside the different cultures waiting for the ghost of too many

to fade to die to become something else. here inside this notion

we are the ones that become the onlooker. into our own space

and time and the time that is ours this time that is ours to become

something else. despite a trump despite a politic that tries to hide

and become something

else . we are the meaning behind the meaning

we are the tongue behind the tongue

waiting for the ghost to come back to life

waiting for the mexican ghost

waiting for the american ghost

waiting for the jazz to kick in

where we are the ones we were waiting for

where we are the ones that become the song

where the laugh is the tear and the inbetween

becomes all the parts of our meaning.

there is something to claim

something something to become

somos todas estas condiciones.



mexican jazz 66

we are the stone calendar left in el mercadito

we are the tortilla space ship wandering down cesar chavez avenue

we are waiting for the malignant tumor to disappear from marias pansa

its the milagro we are all waiting for


somewhere underneath the sun

we remember we are the ones that came before

our d.n.a waking wailing and walking with the feathered copal smoke

of coyoxauhqui

underneath her white skin

she unwinds the layered mask of tescatlipocatl

jade stone and obsidian mirrors bailando

in the memory of our intention

we are waking sun. wailing moon

forgiveness underneath the streetlamp

that doesn’t let us see all the colors of coyoxauhquis

white skin. all her sisters and brother shine less

under the lights of another city that never sleeps



mexican jazz part 65

we are the ones waking up to freejoles, pan dulce and mexican american dreams

caught inbetween paperless borders. more ghost come into the mexica landscape

pheasant feathers start to fall next to crumbles of copal. the sidewalk littered

with glitter, papel picado and notions of what it means to graduate roosevelt high

in this post chicano militant era. post consequence of coincidence. 24 hour michoacan

is still serving up the best carne asada fries in a city trying to fight gentrification and

cholesterol. what is worst . the mexican condition. the american condition. the overpriced

apartment. or the shot to the ego that very few brown faces will ever own land here.

whats the point any way. there is a set of chicano dreams drowning in the amnesia

as the set price for buildings is going beyond our own metaphors. our own conditions

who wants to live here anyway. its the same conquista. just taking on new parameters.

ofcourse we do want to live inside this almost broken mexican american dream. its

the boyle heights before the city that is was cool or hip to be a part of this pueblo.

this is the city of nuestra reina. and it has all the blood pumping. all the life living.

that no hipster or chipster is going to get. somewhere along this condition. we look

for the score to be settled. for the price to be free. for the euphoria to continue. we just

have to keep walking our east l.a. we just have to keep living our east l.a. without anybody’s grants

without anybody’s permission. without anybody’s late notice. or eviction. we are

the cities concrete river. railways and broken alleys. our semilla is embedded underneath

the concrete. no one can take away the sidewalk, the sage, the street lamp, the

hamburguesas, elotes and first street mariachi stuck, jammed, embedded in our d.n.a.



mexican jazz part 64

they tried to deny centro american women and their children

rights to an asylum case. even though they know that 90 percent

of the women and children fleeing have the right. somehow locking them

up in cages. incarcerating children. becomes the place where we have

spent our money and our resources. this is somehow a poem about this

about caging children. who fled for their life. about caging mothers

who came running to be free. about the spaces in between. the amnesia

to remember why we came here in the first place. and some of us here

in the first place but we don’t remember we’ve been here for 20,000 years

migrating on this land. we don’t re-member the recourse. we are the ghost town

of mexican american wars. centro american wars. american nafta wars. mexican

gulf water wars. american asylum wars. border political wars. nameless wars.

caught in the storm of our condition. we are the mexican american centro american

water war happening. in the form of gang wars. in the form of narco trafficante wars

in the form of all the people forgetting your name. their name of the the names of all

those that came before them. we are the waking song. we are the piercing song.

we are the song waiting to manifest.. in the children. all those that have been caged

will remember. all those that were set free will remember. we are the memory of this

opening to find esperanza. somewhere along side the rio grande.. somewhere along side

the places where the sun meets again with the ocean. and reminds us there are no borders

between them. no borders in the inbetween.

and we hope we can remember our own stone song tongues