Wednesday, May 06, 2009


An old fairy
Rode with me
On the bus

She had a pleasant face
And red hair
She wore denim
And sat all the way
In the back seat

We looked at each other
I looked at her sunglasses
And she looked at me
Her lips controlling smirk
A smile of
A nice lady

When she got off the bus
I watched her through the window
Walking away amongst traffic
And she disappeared

Now that she was gone
I sat on the back seat
On the corner of
That transportation vehicle
That always reminds me
Of a loaf of bread

A teenage girl sat beside me
And began to read
A love letter
Written with red ink

Her sunglasses had
Pleasing decorations
I read a couple of lines
Of her letter and decided
There were better images
To read on the other side
Of my window

At the final stop
I walked out of the bus
And walked into Mexico
I coveted the soldiers
Machines guns as
I passed them by
And hurried to
Catch a bus that
Would take me downtown

These buses are always better
Because they provide
Live music

The troubadour sang:

“para que nunca amenezca”
“para que nunca amenezca”
“para que nunca amenezca”
“para que nunca amenezca”

And the music
Provoked a beautiful black woman
Her eyes began to dream
An image that only
She understands
And I thought to myself
This is like nothing else

Tuesday, May 05, 2009


People move like ants
On the corridors of life
On the walkways of selections
And refusals

On the paths
Of savings & expenses

The expenditures
Of life
The investments
Of energy

Red & black ants
Proving their future
And capturing
The eye of God
When He wore sandals
And had a long beard
And long hair

People everywhere…

Don’t look at them
My friend said
There’ the ones
Looking at me
I told him

I look at their faces
And find difficult poems
That make me forget about food
That make me concentrate
On the poetry of
Their existences

Forget about them
Concentrate on your self
The thought lands
On my mind

A mind that has become
A garden
A racetrack
A bookshelf
A generator of acts

Forget about
That stem cell
The thought lands
On my eyes
With a red glare
And a coffee smile

Monday, May 04, 2009


The bicycle wheels turned
Like cartoon eyes
Like spinning rocks
Like flying saucers

All the way to the park
And we continued
Riding our bikes
Till will grew tired
And climbed a tree

On the tree
I felt like I was
On top a bull
On an ecological rodeo

I thank my son
For inviting me up there
And I asked him if
He could see the horns
And the tail
Of the bull under me

He said yes
And grabbed the bull
By the horns
I grabbed its tail
And we rode
Above the ground

Flying with
The birds

And we were happy up there
And we read the names
Written on the branches
Of our tree

The beautiful house wives
Walked on the streets
Pushing their strollers
With beautiful babies
And beautiful smiles

Beautiful everybody
Exerting in the park
Some run & others
Walk their dogs
Some stretch
They stretch their limbs
And it looks painful
No one seem afraid of illness

Sunday, May 03, 2009


La tierra mojada

es un lugar fértil

El arado

la hace sensible

El amor a la tierra

es trabajarla

cuidarla y abonarla

De allí salimos

allí siempre volvemos

a enterrar nuestros muertos

Allí plantamos

nuestros árboles

y pizcamos los frutos

del sudor de nuestra frente