Ocean Water

i will keep you warm when cold waters flood the present with the past

I won’t let you freeze from the glaciers of pain I used to cause

but you’ll have to feel for me with all the empathy you can find

abandoned homes under the sea where tsunamis used to strike

don’t let your heart remember, you’re above water now

I didn’t know you, I didn’t mean to sink your trust again

I didn’t know myself, I didn’t mean to sink so low

there’s no oasis in the middle of the sea

no way to make it up to you but spend every day

steering us to shore.

I waited at the water’s edge, dried by the sun

seeing your shape on the horizon I began to focus

my vision and now my eyes only swim with memories

of the future.

Silent Day

Today I wish to be silent,

and hear only wind rustle over my ears.

My blood cannot handle voices

or it will boil through my skin

which trembles from the vastness

of the Void

which my dreams have become,

stained by reality’s harsh sunlight,

nothing like soft summer,

only jaded delights

and comfortable sadness.

I repose in this silent day,

bathe in the distance and melancholy

I’ve created.

Mountain breeze and car alarms

replace my hometown melodies,

my childhood dream security

becomes anxious tranquility.

I wish to exist outside of my heart,

which owns the broken nostalgia

of my soul

like waterfalls of sun

pouring through windowpanes

that I can never move beyond

or my spirit will burn to ash.

Say you understand me,

and lock me in your arms,

don’t let me go so easily

or I’ll believe you’ve barely wanted me.

I step on white hot pavement,

the road to Central Station,

paths in all directions,

I want to float into the sky.

you don’t know how to handle me,

or how to contain love,

the shortage deep inside of you

disintegrates my empathy.

I sense you walking far from me,

the Void between us widening,

tracing back our steps in time,

back to the lonely beginning.

Drifting Thoughts

One slim glass of coca-cola iceless on wood mueble by my pillow where I rest my skin in motionless tranquility so as not to sweat in summer afternoon

adobe tile room,

150 pesos rusty golden coins, a receipt for tomatos, and old Motorola accompany the dewy glass as I sit

and occasionally miss my city as she drifts through my head like breath or waves,

and sometimes her memory even pounds against my bones like veins of blood trembling with heartbeat,

she will always be fuera de la realidad, for her hospitality is rough like pavement and her heart a jungle of chaos;

but her Dream is like roses, an oasis to my soul’s reality.

her promise has fed me, no matter if I fulfill, for the wind has always pushed me where I need to be…

Home

sometimes I crave wood counters, red velvet, pint beer, Texan bling, diamond earrings, late 11 p.m. Friday tequila and lime, outdoor Christmas lights in summer, freedom desert gas station tan…

somewhere I can rest my soul, speak Spanglish and be close once more to Mexico, where my bones can dream and my mind can sleep, only then will I be home.

there are nights now where I feel like a country queen, after sunburned days of voices covering me in an identity I never wanted, now I desire the land which I’ve come to see as my own, just to stop the staring faces and amused words for one moment…

I used to be a ghost, drawing energy from daydreams, entrusting all my happiness in hope, cyclic desires that cannot be pealed apart, yet fall into ashes all the same, now that I’m as far as I can be from where I grew into such a shadow, I am fully aware that all that has filled my heart thus far has been seratonin, nothing more

Southern Hemisphere Afternoon

How to describe Chile? A new tierra that has captured me again so close to ocean as though I were a pirate gitana searching for soft sand to lay raices into waiting to kiss in the wind my tesoro…

Today we went again to la feria, rows of corncobs, fresh pescado (fish off the coast that is Chile, todo fresco), peaches, tomatoes 200 pesos/kilo, crates of soily potatoes and peapods, even yellow-red mangos, shampoo, cheetah-print underwear, flowing pants, almost like my vision of Mexico but clearer air and you truly feel so far south, I mean I can sense the equator above my head when I lay toes pointed towards the icy sur…

Still, south and north are only illusions, Earth is spherical, directionless, under the sun and over her, Chile is only South in the eyes of the North, but easily turned, depending on your position, Argentina could be a Northern land, Tierra de Fuego the highest, not lowest, city on the planet…it doesn’t matter, North could be East, South could be West, Space like Ecclesiastes sees equally every molecule under the sun…

Continuing on, we fried three fish in oil, eaten with beer and salt-lemon-lechuga salad, todo rico.

The language, the lilt of every tongue similar, binding every face with shared words, and I, lone Argentine, learning it all de nuevo, familiar tones now, but nothing I mimick, nothing is my own here, for the first time I am in no-man’s land, everything foreign.

Planes roar over our wooden bunk where I feel the blueness of the sky deep in my mahogany huesos I am the clouds and stars and I drink their wind, the universe profound from my lookout, everyone so far, my life ever fading into the deep azul ocean and cielo

I remember when existence simply followed the hours of the day, chocolate cake on porcelain and swirly coffees, sunny windows, shower steam, touchable delight, no loss of sight, no crumbling visions of the future that has become yesterday, just straight, believable, understandable world, now I live outside of patterns which held me together…

But Chile, such grandeur and mysticism in her longitude and vastness, her weeping beauty and dusty barrios, mountains like hands of Dios holding us and releasing our unquiet souls onto stretches of sand and olas, chilling splashes of water bathe our feet, blessed by nature, yet quieted by pain and injustice, somber with disbelief at our companions’ blindness, if the ocean could cease the swelling in our ankles and minds we would be at ease, yet there is a freedom in a nonsensical world, the freedom to live

My Hands are full of Thoughts of you

my hands are full of thoughts of you

my fingertips conscious of your presence

my skin steams with memories

as edible as dreams

you lay simply in my palms, like frankness

your weight as inconceivable

as love.

my eyes swim with words for you

every color my heart has gathered this year

saved for you

each melody and desire bathed in nostalgia.

my lips hold beautiful sights

I want to share with you,

every inch of me is skin pulsing with intentions

and wishes under my surface, over my bones

my body sings when I am alive with you

so much I own I wish to tell you,

you are mine, in silence,

in heat, in rush, in repose, in kiss,

in glance, in gaze, in truth…

Sole Desire

poetry is all;

all my soul and melancholy

seduced by sweet nostalgia and lullaby memory of fuzzy golden home like dream with soft blinking stars like miniature suns filling my summer skin with night warmth, oh

all I desire

is to write.

walk, and inhale, hope for lust and angels, seek countless words,

find myself back in the same corners of world,

always dusty with recollection the way antique wood penetrates senses like past life or milonga,

the deep rust of remembrance eternally kindling my soul’s song,

no–I have no other plan

but to write.

-will never change-

is all I know of existence;

the words which procede witness

and emerge in the depths of our ribs.