Saturday, June 25, 2005


I left the world
Of professional translation
Because I got weary of interpreting
The riddles of my patrons
Their problems
Became my problems
Their quest for greed
Was too much to bear
I found out that instead
Of being a helper
I was being an obstacle
To those most in need
Because of this
—and by default—
I had to also leave
The 1st world lifestyle
The house, the cars, the vacations,
The white collar salary
And all that comes
With such commodities
Now I can interpret
My own enigmas
My own dilemmas
The mysteries that I discover
Day by day
In a not so trendy life
I can read into my children’s eyes
More than ever
I can feel the presence
Of my wife
I am not numb anymore
I got reacquainted
With that heavenly princess
Named poetry

Friday, June 24, 2005


I sell seafood
For a living
I hand people
Salmon and red snapper
Swordfish and halibut
Cod and catfish
Shrimp and crab
Tilapia and shark
Lobster & scallops
And my customers
Ask if they should pay me
I tell them to do so
At the cash registers
Up front
And that‘s fine with me
Because I don’t like
The smell of money
And the clients comeback
And they bring me gifts
Sometimes liquor
Other times precious stones
Or coupons for free pizza
Or their phone numbers
Or they invite me
To their houses
So I can have dinner
With them
Most of them are lonely
They eat alone
They live alone
And that’s the
Trademark of
The mightiest
Empire in the world
Its wealthy citizens
Live in alienation
Lonesome kind souls
Embraced in opulence

Thursday, June 23, 2005


I see you coming
Out of the bathtub
More beautiful than ever
It was
12 years ago
When I found you
In my studio
Your gorgeous body
Glowing in splendor
In the water

Wednesday, June 22, 2005


The corridor
Of deliverance
Daily aches are
Nothing untrue
It’s just the
Weight of time
Gravitational reflections
Of eternity
You heart is beating
Just an omen
Of your days

Tuesday, June 21, 2005


A big sun
Larger than usual
Brighter than any color
I’ve ever seen
A living sun
Beating like
The heart of the sky
Sun of alliance
Touch of brilliance
A blinding
Gentle face
Fire is love

Monday, June 20, 2005


For Penjamo’s son.

I hear the cars racing
Engines purring
Like cats on steroids
In Portland
I could hear
All the way to
The international speedway
From my front porch
As I drank beer
Or played guitar
Or just sat there
Doing nothing at all
Here I listen to them racing
On Popotla boulevard
From my desk
As I tried to write
And then the cops come
And chase the racers
And cars crash
People die
Then I am told
Of funeral services
For my friend’s son
And I sit here
Looking at the keyboard
Drinking & smoking
Listening to the engines
Vibrating through
The darkness
Of the ocean