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.


dissatisfaction rooted in my gut like rotten tree; though immense love for my new city finally wins, I do not know peace, every bone of destiny restless, again rocking my skin to a sense of invisibility like rootlessness like vagabond listlessness sad swaying in wind whole life unknown always shaped by fate’s new game which warps the heart and poisons lungs with esperanza and in finale, you don’t want to live anywhere, nothing will do, nothing works, the world is too small, too grand, too many voices to catch up to, too many desires to fulfill, dissappointment that comes from natural changing waves that confuse minds only desiring stillness, don’t understand my intense incapability to be still, I live by breathing and not by planning, unintelligent, poorly shaped mind, my body remaining in the end standing like a sun dial in a bath of murderous heat–

sun soul jaded under humid sweltering unforgiving streets stone dry like an absense of hope like windowless survival running from metal fence to oasis tile steel fan noisy cramped dark cave store with toothpaste and shortbread and condoms, on the corner of Misery and Paradise once again in different form, all the way South, always finding me, between bliss and craze, the indecision to be happy or to continue on seeking,

well, Happiness is not a choice–it is an illusion,

mood is elusive,

all there is be breath, consumption, lips moving, souls stirring, vaguely wanting, reaching blindly,

for joy is never pure; fear of its pending loss dissolves its magnetic power, crumbling into safe weariness once again.

organized chaos around our ankles like eternity…


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…