Archivo de la categoría: Pseudo poetry

Estacionalidad / Luto

Todos los días piso las hojas que no he barrido

si hemos llorado                  el cielo y yo

las más ennegrecidas resbalan amargas

empapadas de recuerdo      deshechas

bajo mis pies

la fruta picada

por aves           podrida

no recogeré

ni mañana           ni ayer

no he barrido las hojas ni lo haré

la cara muerta de estar vivo

se lava sola           de lluvia

y seguimos           de pie

este cielo sufre mucho y llora poco

un minuto de silencio

será más largo aquí.


No existe envidia en la naturaleza

si es preciso

es injusta

y vuelve a empezar

ensaya sin luto un nuevo sol

que solo hará sombra de algunos

quizá por última vez.

Envidia siento

fuera del orden natural.


The very first time we met he took me by the hand in the dark

The world poured back and forth between our eyes, too

poorly-lighted, once or twice

Led me through dim rooms

corridors patio now back

rooms left-to-right office to bed-

room gingerly holding my fingers

pulling my hand to where light was

Still love that moment the softest

the opposite of blindness, a gesture

a kindred I instinctively knew

through the tips of my fingers alone

Time changes most but not all

things. I know through it all this keeps true

Even if we fall out

Even in the end

Even as we pack

For I know blindness of all things

and this was razor-sharp.

With both eyes

A mimicked gesture

is the purview of children

however inaccurate

intent is celebrated

I too hurled my whole heart at

wrong pantomime

to great reviews

I search for the memory

of this warm un•failing

never to be felt again.

Camera roll

Reverence for all things past

is a reflex          unexamined

sometimes useful, like scars

often useless, like stored documents

at its most unremarkable, a daily haunting

of futures that have stalled

reaching through the screen

like light from long gone stars.


La lógica me dice que



Tienes las piezas, lo que más importa

alguna configuración

calzará para los dos


que si no sellan, tapan

y, ¿sabes

qué? A mi edad es suficiente.

No me arde


Pero mentí. La lógica


la advertencia líquida

de la intuición.

XS talk

Hoy me sorprendo pensando mejor mis respuestas
sin importar la pregunta
porque no quiero mentir
o ser inexacto
y en esos segundos
que se pudren en el aire más rápido que los demás
me pregunto si mi interlocutor me encuentra pedante
porque es muy temprano
y miro al vacío o exhalo
como si me importunara la pregunta
o asignara grandiosidad a mi respuesta.
Ninguna de las dos.
Me demoro porque quiero
ser preciso
nada más.
Es curioso porque
de todos modos
no me conozco.


Heard luscious before, I learned warm
Seen velvet, knew tightness, tasted words
translucent like bubbles
but tension from your skin
stretched to the brim of human
overflowing with blood, alive like a wire
an understanding we’ve lacked
of terms
of bliss
as hollow phrases fill up with juice
grow rinds
give way to fruit
not an apple, but a peach
nevertheless holy and not to be touched.
I am never going to be able to unfeel you under my hands.
I am never going to be able to unfeel you under my hands.
I am never going to be able to unfeel you under my hands.
I am never going to be able to unfeel you nor feel you, again.
The weight of my greed
for each pound of flesh
is utter misery.


My appetites are larger than the width of my mouth.
There’s no biting off more than I can chew, there will be no sinking of teeth.
I got no bite, I’ve given up.
I’m at the point of hunger going backwards
it curls back, it rolls back towards vomit.
Far too small to make a dent, mousey, lousy with craving
fed up with yearning, running amok, running on fumes, going unchecked, going unfed, fall through the cracks, slip through the gaps
between razor-sharp fangs
good as brand new,
sitting unused.
Anything would do, still
not a bite, not tonight.

Evil twin (2018)

Branches and roots 
create impossibly tall trunks
as they race towards 
a vastness of their own.