Thursday, July 28, 2005


The harvest
Of the comatose
You don’t let them die
Because there’s a profit
To be made
Greedy wizards
Cloning and
Manipulating the DNA
Please don’t take me
To a hospital


Everything is a part
Of something small
The housewife has
A lost glance
In the marketplace
The most dangerous
Places in town
Because the work ethic
Is an invention
Of the generators of wealth
The employees
Lay their lives on
The stores of menace
For low wages

Monday, July 25, 2005


The workers
Eat together
Gathered like
Canned sardines

Sunday, July 24, 2005


The jornadas became a journey
And the bus was better than a Boeing 747
Because I met a hoodlum
In search of peace
With his shaved head
And his LA baseball hat
Going back to the desert
To that familiar place of motherhood
He said Los Angeles
Is a Motherless place
He asked for my profession
And I said I was
A broker of simplicity
And I gave him my red lighter
He got back on the bus
And it disappeared
With the elements of distance
I stayed at the San Luis Station
Watching the serene
People around me
I was smoking
I begun walking
And asked a taco vendor
For the Frontera Motel
And he said the whole
World is a motel
And all of the universe a Frontier
I kept walking and
I saw a taxi driver
Talking to other Taxi people
And I asked him to take me
To the Motel Frontera
And he said to
Put out my cigarette so I did
I got in the car so old
So practical and beautiful
And we drove in the midst
Of the night and I was cautious of him
And he was cautious of me
And I wished the LA gang member
Was in the car watching my back
And the tension melted
With his out of tune AM radio
Whispering trivia questions
About presidents’ war and history
And we both gave our best answers
Our best shots to the questions
And not to each other
And he got them right
I got them wrong
And there was a feeling of friendship
When he dropped me off
At the motel’s driveway
The clerk asked for my name
And the city I came from
But her voluptuous lips
Added softness to her questions
And I answered her
She handed me a TV remote control
And a key with the number “12” on it
I got in the room and I lit a smoke on the balcony
I turned the TV on and watched
Some music videos and most of them
Were bad videos with pitiful soulless songs
I got out of the room and introduced
Myself to some women that looked like
Some sort of writers because of their
I want to get the hell out of here demeanor
They were in the courtyard
And one of them said I looked
Like a critic that has written more
Than 100 books and I did not know
How to respond to that
“I’ll take it as a compliment” I said
Then I went to the bar next door
And sat on a stool and ordered a beer
When I paid the barkeep said
Thank you “mijo”
I had a couple of beers and tried
To write a poem but I couldn’t
So I went to sleep
The next day a timid girl
Brought breakfast to my doorstep
And it was good
I walked down to the courtyard
And saw a guy who looked
Like a student and I asked him
If he was part of Jornadas
He said yes and I asked him
For a ride and he said to
Get in the VW bug
With Mexico City License plates
And then more people came
And got inside the tiny bug
And I remembered some of their faces
They were performance poets
The ones that are happy when people get upset
And we drove to some university
In the desert and the parking lot
Was like many sand dunes