Saturday, May 20, 2006


There used to be
A refrigerator
In the break—room
It kept food
Safe and cold
That cool storage unit
Was taken away
By The Management
The charge was:
“It was not kept clean”
The guys running the show
Never understood
The whole business
Needs to be disinfected
So now the workers
Place their food
In an even smaller box
And try to
Kill any bacteria
With microwaves
They appeal
To radiation
Now it is hot
And dangerous
To the tissues
Of industry

Thursday, May 18, 2006


Today it was
Good reality
Better than
Good liquor
Its sweetness
Brings forth
Your potential
Delicious possibility
Sitting next to me
Your friendship
Is not cold
To my mouth
My taste buds
Study the ramifications
Of your exquisiteness
Your image is
In my iris
I eat from
Your spoon
This is better
Than an aperitif


I was walking
I don’t remember
Why I wasn’t
Driving a cross the border
Don’t remember
What happened to my car
I waited in line
Amongst drunk tourists
And elderly travelers
Single mothers
And their
Charismatic infants
We were standing
Next to a sign
That informed us
About the
Surveillance cameras
And we waited
Our turn
To be questioned
We have our
Passports and cards
And id’s
And birth—certificates
In our hands
It must have been
In the late 80’s
Or early 90’s
The time period that is
Not the temperature
It wasn’t that hot
Back then
I watched as people
Put their bags
On the conveyer belt
To be x—rayed
Customs and immigration agents
Looked at documents
And repeated questions
When it was my turn
I smiled at the inspector
And handed him my card
He frowned
Threw at me a dirty look
And yelled
National Guard!
Then he pointed towards
A young fellow
Wearing fatigues
Who was searching luggage
I felt betrayed
I felt a knot in my stomach
I felt like a prisoner
Of war
Even though I wasn’t at war
With anyone
The guy in camo
Finished his inspection
He looked like
A musician
He was about my age
And I thought
He probably played
Bass guitar
With a lot of feeling
Drums with an
Exceptional touch
Of rhythm
Or maybe like
Lenny Kravitz
He played all
The instruments
So I just stood there
Trying not to
Look him in the eye
I didn’t say anything
He didn’t say anything
But he had a peaceful
Look in his face
After a moment of silence
I decided to ask him
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
He replied
I waved him goodbye
He waved back
He was cool
Way cooler than
La migra and
The border patrol

Monday, May 15, 2006


As I
Make love
To you
Somebody is
Getting shot
As I
Penetrate you
Bleeds to death
If we have
Another sun
I will name him
After them

Sunday, May 14, 2006


La danza del venado
O la del perrito
La de la tortuga
O los pingüinos
La de las lágrimas
Y sonrisas
O carcajadas
Todo da igual
Todo es lo mismo
Es un zapateado
Y el significado de
Danzar o bailar
O tirar patadas
O brincar
Sollozar o alegrarse
Es similar
Se hace
Con la
Misma energía
Y de la misma forma
Nos cansamos