Soy ambigua, atada, democrática, equivoca,

mis deseos condicionales, falsos, incompletos,

mi situación indefinida, limitada, incorrecta,

mi pensamiento dependiente, con fallos, incierto,

mi corazón dudoso, abreviado, parcial, sumiso.


El Robo


te eligiera si podría cambiar una tierra entera

una mente que podría resolver

para que no nos roben del bolsillo

nuestro tiempo.

El tiempo no absoluto

sino vago, como si no pudiera desaparecer

en algún momento de olvido,

El tiempo vagabundo

porque cambia su humor como pasos

en un camino que brilla con peligro.

Nos robaran

los momentos que creíamos inmortales

en la ciudad intensamente ambigua

con la seducción de su grandeza tanguera

su aire musical y su hermoso escondedero

y la miseria de su hambre imposible.

nos echa como un deseo roto

nos deja con corazones vacíos

después de su gran robo.


Vivo como una sombra.

no verás mis ojos

no me sentirás

soy liquido como un color

sin palabras como la respiración

sólo ves una silueta

bajo luz como si fuéramos

ángeles lejanos

lejos de nuestras viejas ciudades,

usadas para absorber

nuestras lagrimas

que no encuentran donde caer

que desean el caos

de la cambia constante

que es la vida de una fantasma.

Me verás como silueta lamentable:

callada como la briza

que te toca como terciopelo azul

pero nunca te dice

una palabra que entiendes.

Esperarás que comparta contigo

un pedazo de mi alma

una sola palabra

del centro de mi ser

pero lamento que no puedo.

Mi piel es de piedra.

bajo el superficie de risa elegante

voz baja y manos inmóviles,

mi alma ardiente te desea

y cree que me dejarás

al final,

porque yo te quiero


Snapshots of City Memory

I am a queen of nostalgia, dark like cold nights, awake and asleep, all at the same time, like memories you can taste again and again, life begins to live, moments begin to happen, my eyes open like wind on adobe building desert midnight, stay with me, in my blood, protecting by the membrane of my veins and my esperanza, holding you forever and ever, on our new soft terrain, I was accustomed to a usual dissatisfaction so it’s difficult to know how to handle you, your teeth glistening like snow under streetlamp night, New York but latin, cobblestone dust washed into relentless tango rain, streaming at the curbs like garbage rivers racing to escape but drying before reaching the city’s edge, whirlwind life, remembered in fragments of his coffee eyes, dorado ears, corner of devilish smile,  arch of stretched back, existence now tasted in snapshots of flavor like memory dejavu reenacted in my present bones,

love, love, pushing me over the city’s shore like toes on balcony tile cold as cement at daybreak heartless as selfish desire and foolish impulsion my soul eternally filled to the brim with carelessness because nothing matters to me but love, and sadness has filled most of my days like darkness fills shadows, which wait to be painted black, as that is their purpose,

I was created melancholy and wistful like willow tree, solitary and yearning

but roots are city glass and stone mud streets and cumbia windows, plátano crates, long strides into freezing bridge night;

don’t let me go, gray sweater and flourescent bus dream, love known in flashes like polaroid unregrettable futureless time–

Wordless Limbo in Nostalgia Autumn

Listen to “Push” by The Cure whilst reading.

Limbo is my blissful state of wonder as I wander through warm fall cement hometown streets, air alive on my face like ice,

am a soul, an entity, floating through towns, through nostalgia, blue as the sky between clouds over leaf parks where faces from years ago appear before my brain like slideshow daydreams, my tranquility, breathing deeply in all that has passed.

who am I other than two feet whose path my heart creates like music before my eyes at dawn, so when I awake I know where to place my toes; one day, one particle at a time, one breath, one embrace at a time.

thinking of dark naive autumn nights from past autumns, car windows and 30 degree mornings, his cigarettes, winter promises, notes written with ink, soul, gratitude for the magnificence of teenage love,

we beat time and lived in pockets of paradise and pure soul,

stuck in blissful short-sighted love, disposable years, almost intoxicating with nostalgia,

and in my imagination, clearer even than memory, we rode in pastel blue Cadillac convertibles, grape soda and kisses and long hair,

behind us, like sweetness and past. don’t ever disintegrate around me, I never want to see anything fall apart again, I only wish to hold, I only wish for a love like wordless music surrounding me, consuming me like color,

electric and raw and wooden proclamations pure soul and essential emotion, I hope your essence will envelope me, our dreams will cover the city with street-lit incandescent transandean snow, I hope you breathe as full as the milk moon, your respiration glows in autumn light, golden empty street night, surely it is Primavera but autumn resides in my veins, my body in eternal limbo, my skin in eternal Summer, I will meet you like the dawn, and you will see: desire is why we live in the end…

In Times of Cholera (English Version)

Originally written by me in Spanish. Read the Spanish version here.

In times of absence

what does the heart do?

She sleeps,

she lets the eyes divert their course.

She dreams of nostalgic times.

Sentiment is half of love,

conviction is the other.

You have my heart;

make yourself responsible:

He who loves

has the responsibility

to care.

and she who needs

has the responsibility

to wait.

In times of aging,

one must not abandon


Love in times of cholera;

through the hours that we forget each other,

between the seconds when you seem absent,

love is the internal promise

to continue on.