Saturday, December 13, 2008


He died
A long time ago
Some believe
His music is beautiful

I think he had good intentions
His music was good
For what it was
But this is in the past

It be in your best interest
Not to threaten me

I consider you family
And I will deal with you as such

Do not interfere with me
Especially when it comes
To my children


Let me put
My sun glasses on
I’ll look more mysterious

I’ll be your Natasha
You’ll be
My Boris

I’ll be Juan

I’ll be
Holding with my hands
What is always
What is forever


Death is sleep
Death is every night

The devil don’t sleep
Because he’s truly dead

God doesn’t sleep
He does rest

Only humans sleep
Dead is being alive
Every morning there’s a resurrection

Death is everything
That’s doesn’t let you move

Death doesn’t exist
Because death is you

Death is
Under the guarache sandals
Of a Palestinian

Friday, December 12, 2008


I dreamt again
I dreamt awoken but still asleep
I dreamt you were speaking to me
Using words crafted by some kind of writer
I was half smiling half doubting
Navigating on the crooked
Dimensions of dreams
Trying to gauge the truth
With the movements of my soul
Putting aside everything I have been thought
In order to find disorder
The kind that makes for good euro─art
In your dreams you can resurrect the dead
In your dreams it’s easier to understand God
When your beautiful mind
Is not working that well
When your heart
Is being stretched by a tugboat

Thursday, December 11, 2008


I dreamt the most beautiful flower
Her aroma clearing my airways
Wake up to orange peels on my coffee table

Wednesday, December 10, 2008


Hello you
Come down here
I’ll kiss your world

Flies are neurotic,
moths are crazy,
but for serenity you can’t beat a butterfly.

There’s no preparation for poetry. Four years of grave digging
with a nice volume of poetry or a book of philosophy in one’s
pocket would serve as well as any university.

Charles Simic

Tuesday, December 09, 2008


Beautiful maiden with long black hair
I smiled as I walked by
Her eyes lit like a bonfire on the sand

Monday, December 08, 2008


Waiting in line
At the cash register
The smiley girl next to me
Wears a potent perfume that
Almost makes me sneeze

If she wasn’t standing
So close
Things would be fine

Once I paid
I hurried up pushing
My shopping cart towards
My bicycle

I noticed the
Owner of a boutique
Looking at me
So I hurried up & picked up speed
Almost the to the point of running

I heard my name being yelled
So I looked over my shoulder
And there she was
Waving her hands at me

I made a 360 with my shopping cart
And strolled towards her
And she said she wanted to thank me
For telling her
Everything was going to be fine
Not the be afraid
And that things were okay
I told her that I am happy for her
That is a good think to get rid of fears

And before she thought about
Asking me for a hug
I said goodbye
And quickly continued on my path
Towards my bike
And I was thinking of you


I love
To save the world

I love
Because is better
Than not loving

I love
To breathe better

I love
To exercise the heart

I love
To help others

I love
In spite of misunderstandings

I love
Because I am addicted to love

I love
With my eyes closed

I love
With my eyes open

I love
To speak softly in your ear

I love
To see you again

I love
To hold your hand

I love
For you to feel better

I love
To dry your tears with my touch

I love
Because today might be the last day

I love
To fight iniquity

I love

I love

I love
For those who can not love

I love you

If a society without social justice is not a good society, a society without poetry is a society without dreams, without words . . . and without that bridge between one person and another that poetry is. If society abolishes poetry it commits spiritual suicide.

Octavio Paz.

This is why I have rendered myself a professional dreamer.

Sunday, December 07, 2008


One of life’s greatest pleasures is to drive
The negotiations of invisible corners
And unknown road obstacles

When the truth is withheld
The mode of movement
Is always by intuition

Always remotely

There are vehicles that you love
To touch
To steer
To guide

Instruments that become
And extension of your body
Of your existence

They’re always kept
And protected
In house

Works of art
Render untouchable

Only reserved for
The best vocation
For highest orders
For spiritual realities
Vessels of high degree

The others
You have to lease to strangers
High risk contracts
Always with depreciation
Short life span

If they break
They will break on the competition
Explode on their faces
Or their asses
Burn their houses &
Sabotage their plans

Some creations are meant to be destroyed
Vessels of disposable degree
The Japanese understood this
When they implemented the kamikaze

Kiss my enemies
And do what you
Know how
To do best