Divination, Interrupted.

Had I known.
Had I simply known.
Had I
looked into a crystal ball,
eyes glowing all ablaze
see the fuzzy memories ahead
the future in a tell tale haze-
I would have run.
Run.
Run so
fast and so sweet
I would have become the breeze
A whisper of what is to come,
I would have shaped this earth into ease
Run so fast and gliding to the soil
A moment borrowed from the past
Tell the future me it was all a mistake
and dreams do not last.
Had I known.
If I simply known.

-b.r.rivera

The Ripple Effect

We're all stories in the end.

An afterthought to memories
sticky residue formed by the cerebellum
and ancient experiences.

I remember this life as simply as the next
adorned with what ifs,and sad maybe's,
undesirable truths and rude awakenings.
I could of had it all. That promised laugh,
That joyful tear,
That wrinkled smile.

An afterthought to memories
sticky residue formed by the cerebellum
and ancient experiences.

This road is not what it seems.

I received advice a long time ago;
choose the path less traveled
and diverge often from the foothills and valleys
peaking in sunset and light,
shadows and darkness,
earth and Heaven's above.

I was supposed to be happy.

Bring life to whatever was dead; the constant resurrection
of soul stirring eras, being told and retold
many seasons ago. For it was glory. Glory to
be the present unwrapped,
a child sprung forth of its mother's womb
entangled in a cord and cut loose
of any ties except destiny.
And who am I to choose it? To accept that
there were more tear stained shirts than I care to count,
hopeless thoughts in enclosed spaces and
unanswered prayers in sanctuaries of beloved spiritual realms.

My story will be forgotten.

An afterthought to memories
sticky residue formed by the cerebellum
and ancient experiences.

They will say, "Remember Beverly?"
and tell some woven tale of a renegade with a fierce tongue,
appetite for words that were never spoken,
words that were never shown.
I will be their secret. Their hushed rumor of
life, the odd comparison of what can be,
should be,
ought to be,
can't be,
shouldn't be.
Going out with a whisper
laying claim to recollected imaging
and validated with imprints of a photograph.
I was here.
I made a mark, didn't I?
I was a conquest of defeat, a challenge of others
and a spark of another.
Set goals, arrival at small victories
a small cheer of the crowd in remembrance
of a soul bearing a golden trophy.

An afterthought to memories
sticky residue formed by the cerebellum
and ancient experiences-

In the end, we're all stories.

-b.r.rivera

Melpomene

He showed me that all the world's a stage

a constant manipulation of rehearsed lines

and babbled manuscripts.

he directs me.

I put on makeup, carefully

erasing wrinkles and worry lines

creases from time.

take a shot of liquor lubricant for frazzled nerves and 

anxious butterflies still in their cocoons,

buzzing to a wind that cannot hold them.

shouting voices heard to an empty theater while

crickets form an electric hum as the spotlight

casts its vigilance upon me. 

shadows dance on walls

capturing moments past. 

I hear the credits rolling already in my mind;

who stars the show-

who plays the sidekick,

the annoying plot uncovered as the antagonist

wins in the end. 

Act Two, Scene Three

enter stage right

exit stage left.

he creates a scene.

tells me that he loves me.

i invoke the numb set of emotions

only this character can give half-heartily

cry a little for the crowd,

see that its all in vain

the crimson curtain closes,

its golden tassels swaying in the air-

a single red rose is thrown

and applause is silent. 

-b.r.rivera

Comfort for A Fool

Yesterday was the day in which
we declared solidarity
made promises for the future
that would hold doe eyed babies
because romance and fairy tales come true.

We separated that page
in a fun filled chapter
illustrated our delight in permeated whites
and tell tale laughter
changed the rhythm from setting to climax
because tomorrow was the day
for no looking back.

We celebrated in sentences. Held firm to
future tense and elongated phrases
secret jokes and short mazes
riddle me this, dare I say
because dreams won't dare be a reverie in truth
living in the present of the day.

I bookmarked it. Circled a date on the calendar
and marked it in legible scribe. Set the timer on my clock
and waited for the impending buzz to arrive
Placed a red ribbon on my finger
A pinch of salt thrown to the left of my back
Placed a picture of you and I on a cork board
held in place by an aging thumbtack.
because yesterday is coming.

because romance and fairy tales come true.
because tomorrow is today
because dreams won't dare be just a dream
because yesterday is gone

and today

you're gone.

-b.r.rivera

Permeation

I want you in me. As me.

I want to know all about you. Discover a little
egocentricity and possible falsities that
lie deep and are undiscovered underneath. I want to ripple your wave
be the shadow replica of the movement in which
draws your orifice into being. I want to explore you.
Be the origin as navel (0,0)
go across undiscovered planes and rudimentary
shape shifting.
You are beautiful. And I want to trace you.
Draw little lines with my finger
where ink hits upon warm skin
supple fat and coarse stubble from 5 after 5
ante meridiem. I want to be your sunset.
Force the colors across cumulus clouds and earth shattering
hailstorms. Be the west end of equinox and its flaming orange and red
bursting a fireball within you,
as you.
You are my truth. My beginning, and my end.
You are the simplistic of words and the complexity of Babel,
scattered tongues that all equate the same meaning. And I adore you.
Want to sit front and center as your student
Where chalked lines become patterns of discernment. Repeat vowels
and consonants that others have fell short of. Ooohs and Ahhs becoming
much more than the cliche over thought choice for stumbling thoughts.
Yes and Yes becoming more than affirmation.
I want to know all about you.
Discover you.
Understand you.

Because I love you.


          And  In you,
I am you.

-b.r.rivera

Dissonance

he called it a kiss.

i called it a misrepresentation of a moment
held lip to lip. hardly mentionable. if anything, exceedingly
questionable of the stillness that holds silence in the dark.
it lays thick.
the silence.
a hung canopy weighted in the air of deadly gasses to the masses
particulate clouded in smokey haze and devilish grins of sarcasm
and uncompensated limbs.
how dare he even
speak that word? he calls it a kiss.
I take a drag of a menthol cigarette
and exhale bullshit.
we were once so beautiful then. no wrinkly lines to expose
wasted years and wasted tears held with grains of sand
and unspoken arguments that became our religion.
the passion, an unrequited love
marked by inked x's and o's reserved for secret lines and tell tale
signs of what was passion of a honeymoon phase
now the spark sprinkled from the star gazing eye dreaming of a
hundred ways
to become that reverie again. that mystical way in
a graze of the skin became an ignition in the warmth of untold regions
the nape of the neck gave premonition to electricity in cohesion
the small of the back curved a path to the squeeze of affirmation
the lick on my clitoris became your cue to end starvation-
and we sit here untangled in the shadow of the dark
back to back held onto what was once a spark
a misrepresentation, a fallacious causation of what I deem a lie

he called it a kiss

i call it an alibi.

-b.r.rivera

"Epicenter"

he must be a god.

Exhume him as a cartographers secret fetish
twisting lines and deep curvatures as
mountains stretch forth east and west. Ripples and valleys more.
Much...much more.

i am his center.

Enveloped in the sweet moisture of his breath
fuzzy memory of auditory beckoning shadow his reign over me.
the unlike cliche of deep sound  where it meets vocal command
even the whisper of him makes me listen.
I hear him. Mouth and lips more.
I listen.
Cadence becomes undocumented synchronicity the mere
parallel universe where I once escaped from emotional purgatory. Could you imagine a yell?
His raising of octaves would command oceans to part and separate the seas from the
salt of the earth, counting grains to become glass struck down from the result of the Heavens
a faint sound to open ears.
He's calling-
and I come.
No hesitance. No second thought or momentary lapse of indecision.
He is so much more.

he exists as truth,
and I am his philosopher.
Dare I ponder this creation.

Skin unscathed by battle wounds and fallacious marks of immortality
he is beautiful. Cells and glands forming the elastic bands
of skin, i dare to touch him
and feel him. Flesh and veins more. I stroke him.
Liquidity becomes exchangeable morphing the simple
gesture of two as one and math doesn't matter in the state of mind that I'm in.
I hear something like e=mc^2 in the background. His mass producing energy, too much energy in this speed of light
Who cares about the logistics,
the scientific explanation of this.
His towering height a conquest of dominance

Branching onwards and upwards, roots burrowing in my infrastructure.

The mere electricity thumps between two synapses and create contact in an overstatement. Could you imagine a walk? His foot steps of imprinted power would shake the earth in violent tremors and become plate tectonics in the middle of the planet.
He forms new continents.
Gives me a lesson in geography.
Shows me the undiscovered regions on brown earth
the power of gravity,
the stillness of weightlessness.
and I want to explore him.
I want to be the polarity in which he balances me,
the axis and mutual attractiveness in the bindings that a body creates.

he is a god.

Limbs compass north to south. No compass necessary. Muscles and tendons more.

So much more.
so much
more.

-b.r.rivera