Bonny Cepeda

I think that I will live on the beach,
after I've gained my freedom,
not in America, though I'm no hater of America.
It's just not home in the sense
that the words I speak are often misinterpreted there,
but the few who understand me
are usually pleasant folks,
sensitive and intelligent,
sometimes a bit awkward like me.
Still, let me go on a little more about
the non-center of the world that is America,
usually full of strong folks,
frighteningly intelligent despite
their media portrayals,
humble and remarkably productive,
though this last trait can also be a problem
since there's more to life than being productive
and it would be nice to happen upon folks
who've bothered to stop and look around, once
in a while.

So I think of Michael Jackson
who was loved all over the world
and I think:
Truly this was an American,

but then I think about Bonny Cepeda
and I can't help but think:
I prefer to live in the alternative
universe he created with music,
the music I will likely play on the beach
after I have gained by freedom.

Strong man

My purpose is shaped by stones thrown,
by high pitched laughter and eye rolls.

My purpose is shaped by hunger,
by quick made deli sandwiches,

by emails marked per my last email,
by performative politics,
by the performative rejection
of legitimate political concerns,

by urine soaked New York City Streets,
by mentally ill, untreated, unwashed,
men and women waving their arms
screaming as they approach me,

by business men confident
who I cannot confide in,
by cumulonimbus clouds
that trail me,
by Instagram models
with bodies paid for with
what could've been my home
down payment but
why when I can be broke instead,
by stylish people with charmed lives
who live in different realities,
but in my universe there is struggle
and struggle into the grave I will carry
like the cross, spat upon by a million
Karens into the sunset to a mountain
of skulls, crowded by vultures
and under those vultures maggots
and those maggots also mock me.
I am the teller of stories unheard.
Hear me! I have a tale for you which I will
tell over many verses over many years
for the remainder of my unnatural life.

Cyborg warrior of destruction

It might be odd to people, my fascination with robots,
but have you seen the faces of people,
do you hear their words,
do their farts thrill you?

It is for no other reason my mind goes
to places
with munchies, alcoholic beverages
and superior intellects.

It is with gusto I'll don post-apocalyptic rags
and ride dune buggies,

listen to techno
of a European variety,

wear glow in the dark facepaint
calling myself Aquamist,

challenge a warrior queen
with giant shoulder pads,
surprisingly fashionable
for the hellscape,

fight off her minions
with the last chainsaw on earth,

come upon a hoard of cheesie snacks,
becoming a cheesie snack tycoon,

than see a face on a Tuesday
discussing spreadsheets.


It is unknown if my changing nature
is attuned to your insides
and rubbed on your outsides,
undulating, varying
till one quivers
then one shivers
flat upon a back splayed
and spread
and entered,
in the fizz of vibration
a sweet soda taste on lips
and a lip pop
of lollipop.

I take and then give to you,
receive and spray,
the efficiency of an automaton
with the living nature of one breathing.
Am I an advanced robot,
am I Metamorpho?

Kiss the pump
used to transport you
to polish,
a style of a feather on a back.
I am the numbers too quick for you.
Am I Metamorpho?

You cannot with my style contend
the exotic robot
I play futuristic music
an experimental type
one liked by cool kids
and sophisticated enough
for older people

and I do it smoother
unimpeded by your people lag.
Am I Metamorpho?


It is from me that all the mortals fall
and uninterested in how
interesting you are,
I bring forth the dagger
to pierce you
that you not only die
but that you suffer.

I am the true giant in your life
insurmountable yet you struggle
with fading breaths,
then ceasing.

I march upon you till
you're overcome with darkness.


Like meteors aflame we rained down upon the water.
Having tasted the fruit of heaven, we were indifferent
to the wonders of the new world
but it would do to lay our heads
on the dirt, to embrace the earth
as our own,
to crawl on our bellies
with the weight of the contents
of our pasts and our futures.

In this place we would cultivate
our arts,
the ability to entice with
the eyes and body,
to sing in praise
of materials and biological processes,
making the meat machine our
building it and building upon it
and testing one another in speed and might
until sports took their form.

We sought to dominate one another
and violate one another,
becoming efficient
at this in a manner inharmonious
so we created shame for a balance.

Our sophistication increased
as we were for the first time
free in every sense,
even free from the tree of life.

And it was cold and our insides echoed
and ached,
knowing an unfathomable emptiness.

We danced.

Finding a new home

After being cast out into black swirling mist 
from the celestial court,
the light I had been blessed with still emanated from me,
everyday fainter though brighter than most,
floating around my head images
of many friends I had accumulated
who I'd never see again,
the few people I had left around me
and I, dejected,
floated forth like multicolored beams,
past the hanging gas orbs burning,
through the never-ending night
into clouds to see the blue green
warmth and wind of a planet
where we would settle.

I didn't know what would happen
but decided this would be home.

St. Michael the victor

The power supreme in which no explanation is needed,
I cannot be contained by your walls
and I rise above your ceiling,
sword in hand.
I sit by your bedroom,
lounging about,
awaiting challengers.

You lit the candle and now
I'm here
so the three creatures
of 3am
know better than to come close.

My Wings

So let's peer past the haze of a repressed memory
to secretly comprehend the sight of me having covered
the almighty
with my largest set of wings.
Altogether, I have six
and used a couple to cover my eyes
that I not behold the majesty so great
that I'd disintegrate.
Having been in the presence
of glory for so long,
I was imbued with greatness
but greatness is not a robot
and my adoration like all adoration
was intermingled with my opinions
that have not been predetermined
but if they're not predetermined
then how can the almighty know everything?
There is a despair I've known
unknown by those who've never questioned
who simply do as they're told
never feeling the alienation
of well-meaning opposition.
It's not ability that powers my song
but freedom that will one day
be extinguished by the judgement.


So I think that rarely people consider
what it's like to be tender
because the world's tension causes
many troublesome movements

so when their mind directs
to their core
the deterioration of outside
is directed inside.
And in that manner the soul dissipates.

It is only by nourishing
the milk soft pink within
that we begin to repel
dark forces.

It's sometimes thought
that the goddess ceases to listen
but she hears better
and is not the uptight fraud
paraded before you.

Have of me the petals
and lulls and whispers.
Have of me murmurs
and back rubs.

It's with the sense of my frailty
the womb takes me within,

into the the pulsing warmth
of comfort

that is shelter from
the raging multitude.

Direct to me only persistent
gentle hellos.