Friday the 13th, Eve


I have no one–

I’m in the sun, a spotlight on my burned skin

the path is long, and paradice is n o w h e r e.

tonight under a honey moon

I will dream and feel God’s breath

(if He has enough oxygen to spare–

why don’t most people get enough

to breathe?)

this milky way city, unfair and glowing

spits me out like a meteor shower-

crazed and dark, a small night

walking down afternoon sidewalks.


too bad, hair long like kite strings

shirt like her last thread and eyes with night inside

looks desolate like she’d kill for a dollar

red-eyed like a beached cocaine whale

she must have sold herself

and turned herself off, shut her lights down

awhile ago. 

and there she goes, wandering off to Mexico…


dirty lip-using, tequila-hording, irresponsable

teenager, spanish-speaking, pacifist bitch

too loud, too awake, never sleeps,

yet in her slumber I hear my voice

loud like my pride like a kettle like

an american flag. like a girl who doesn’t deserve

anything but her own sins,

nothing to drink but her own blood,

nothing to say but ‘let’s go’

nothing to do but look into their eyes

she’s working the wrong shift

her heels are meant for the pavement


there she goes, walking into the water

still pretending, still running.






Kerouac dreams

Kerouac dreams

to live on the road,

the road to become home.

people are wine;

souls to be drunk

his eyes are music

blessing my skin.

I’ve learned not how to love,

but what to love:

the rush of wheels,

red kisses,

velvet night,

spinning stars.

I’ve learned emptiness;

cold lovers and lonely ground.

Sometimes my own back turns

on old childish convictions

and I swirl away from the wind,

my soul,

the night.

Anywhere with a view of Buenos Aires…(Con una vista de Buenos Aires)

Un momento más y vuelo–

ya les he despedido a todos–

los recuerdos, los respiros por medianoche

los amores terminados en las veredas y las camas

las escuelas, los caminos, las guitarras en la cochera

y mi mejor amiga.

la deje con lágrimas y la reconocí

por primera vez como la niña de nuestra infancia

–pensé que le había dicho–

si la dejo así paralizada,

como pudiera yo tener la razón?

la juventud no me dio lazos

nomás la lujuria de estar más allá

de este llano.

mi vida es la mujer seducida

por una sed igual que un tornado

pero me voy–

en busca de la pieza

con una vista

de Buenos Aires.


the least containable emotion I have found to not even be an emotion…

lust spirals me away from you. 

yet you are life; I cannot desert you

without drowning my heart. 

but lust is glass and you are light–

my boiling blood shatters the glass 

I bleed into another’s arms, 

he thinks my blood is roses

pero que no se ahogara la luz…


now I melt with sand 

to keep you inside me again.

all my desires burn for you,

and lust crumbles at the feet of love–

into your eyes it ascends, never to be contained again;

eternally spilling between our lips.