Friday, September 11, 2009


This hole has a tissue that is disintegrating
As if being eaten by bacteria
It conveys a stunning dose of reality

It is a net with bigger holes
A huge hole
Filled with millions of smaller holes

What a work of art!

The cameras are witnesses
To this tragedy
A disastrous event that is celebrated
As a magnificent achievement

This is a symbol
Of laughter
And lamentations


A la nube
Le falta
Un seno
Se perdió
En una cena
A la nube
Le hace falta
Porque los senadores
Se lo comieron

Dos bautismos en un día es todo un desafío, lo bueno que se celebraban en la misma comunidad y no en diferentes ciudades y el carro estaba nuevo y era convertible, de ingeniería alemana. Yo viajaba en el asiento del pasajero, el único asiento de pasajero porque sólo tenía dos plazas. Mi hermano conducía en alta velocidad pero se sentía como si el auto fuera a 30 millas por hora. Para el retén de policía era una velocidad más alta. No señalaron para que nos detuviéramos.

— A ver… bájate colega.

Me dijo el policía cuando se acercó a mi ventana. Abrí la puerta y me bajé y miré a los demás policías que, de la misma forma, me miraban. El que me dijo colega tomó mi lugar en el carro y cerró la puerta. Permaneció unos momentos sin decir nada, sólo miraba el interior del auto, y guardaba su silencio.

— ¡Qué chingón huele! Dijo finalmente.
— Sí oficial, lo compré hace unos días. Dijo el conductor.
— Simón, es olor a carro nuevo. Dice el chota para después bajarse del carro en silencio y alejarse.

Me subí al carro y nos fuimos, me quedé pensando en el olor a carro nuevo, ese olor que causa cáncer y que le gustó tanto al uniformado. Y el agua corría por en medio de la ciudad como si fuese un río, o muchos ríos, como si las calles fueran de agua y de repente pensé: que buen lugar para celebrar bautismos. Agua por doquier. Cuando estábamos por llegar al final, donde están los peñascos a un lado del mar, el carro se llenó de polvo. Y me di cuenta que todo el mundo también se convierte en polvo.

Wednesday, September 09, 2009


Write about the hetairas she said
Write so they can wake up
Write so we might discover them

All along the conversation
I was trying to figure out
What a hetaira is
But I could definitely feel
More than I could understand

Now that their men
Have been taken down
The hetairas have taken over

They excel in
The art of politics
The art of desire
The art of the eye

The hetairas have been around us
For a very long time

This is
A state of mind

But above all else
It is the workings of
The world

Tuesday, September 08, 2009


I met you at diner
I told you I was falling in love with you
And you said you felt the same

For the next six months
I looked for you
In that Mexican diner
And I always found you

And we chatted
From sunup
To sundown

I spoke poetry to you
And you spoke poetry back to me
I told you were my muse
And you sat there
Biting your lips

We dreamt with our eyes open
And celebrated our secret rituals
At that Mexican diner

Then I took you with me to California
And then I invited you to my secret place
I laid on my bed
And you placed you face down on the table
And looked at me
As I tried not to fall asleep

One early morning
Or one late night
I don’t remember which
You asked if I would let you
Take care of me

And you looked so dangerously beautiful
And even though I answered your question
You told me I did not seem too convinced

You looked so beautiful then
As you do look beautiful now
And one day
It seemed like a day to me
But it might have been a night for you
You told me how you felt

And your feelings resonated in my heart
Like a close encounter of the third kind
I knew then you need it more of me
Like I need more of you

It did not happened every time
But when we concentrated
We could make the light
Shine in both hemispheres
At the same time

Monday, September 07, 2009


The sport kills
No need to impress friends
This game kills
Diversion only breeds desire

This risk will put you to sleep
This chance kills
Practice makes perfect
So unfortunately exact

I like being imperfect
These skills make you a dreamer
This craft kills

Friends don’t let friends drive proud

The road kills
The bed kills
The ring kills

The dance floor….

The detective said:
While she danced
She fell dead
In the arms of her partner

This life kills
Eventually everybody
Crosses the finish line

These feelings kill
You better not be too sentimental
For a decent heart rate

Sex kills
Food kills
Work kills
Leisure kills

And pretty soon
The kills start sounding
Like videogame credits

Your eye can kill you
And you hand too
You ear
Your tongue
Your breathing passages
Your everything’s
And your nothingness
All of these and so many more
Can efficiently put you to rest

Sunday, September 06, 2009


We ride our bicycles
And the girl in front
Starts playing with her lighter
She put the flint to work
And the sparks hit the darkness
Next to the ocean

We ride our bicycles
And we have to stop
To listen to the music
The lighter girl has unleashed a fire
And the music is fuel

We ride out bicycles
And stop to grab something to eat
We parked our bikes next to the restaurant’s
Delivery motorcycle
Our rides are better

We ride our bicycles
Through the park
On the boardwalk
Next to the sunset
Through musicians
Painters and poets

We ride our bicycles home
And play with the Indian summer
Happiness on two wheels
Love is exercise