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…

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.

Illusions

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…

Silueta

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

demasiado.

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

conviction.

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.

Fragments

The way his eyelids fold above his eyes when he glances upwards.

A radio station I’d only heard online, blasting in a clothing shop

where I traded $20 for 200 pesos.

The first taste of cold Fernet and coke, with ice.

Standing to wait in the street, instead of the sidewalk.

Hearing “feliz navidad” as I buy 2 liters of water for a sweltering day.

Walking on the handprint of Maradona, as though I were in a Hollywood

one million times more personally meaningful.

Every shower freezing, like a baptism each time.

Crepes of caramel and the blackest beer in the house,

lying sick in my bunk, next to a future lifelong friend

who offered me a walk on the beach,

but I was leaving that day.

last night, ultimately alone, Mendoza,

empanadas, spaghetti, too much, never enough

of that restaurant with the flag in the window.

the chico in the plaza playing mad guitar with his

girlfriend watching proudly on the bricks.

no shame anywhere, and personal sadness

only under a thick layer of empathetical radiance.

our last moments in each other’s presence,

spent in pointed silence.

regret for not loving you sooner,

passionate nerves vibrating for the future.

My small green silk journal from abuela.

the chair he pulled out for me

salsa I pretended to dance,

wondering if he was intentionally edging

so close to my mouth.

the City at dawn, garage doors over each shop,

-except the Farmacia-

the cigarette between his lips,

no fingers used to keep in place,

instead interlaced with mine,

despite my numb.

Chinese food and flan,

dinner on the hostel’s bench by his side,

why didn’t I kiss him in the shower

upstairs, while everyone ate?

the hostel worker who “waved good-bye”

to his return plane to Mexico, D.F.

the New York man, searching for his “latin lover”

no Spanish in his yankee vocabulary,

curing a hangover with a mar-gar-it-ah,

memorable.

the taxi driver who took me to my return airport,

promised me “nada es imposible”.

demasiados adioses.

the stars of Santiago city lights shimmering

along with my tears, crying together in solemnity

as Soda Stereo filled my ears,

knowing I had not meant to leave.

Ten Minutes

8:09 p.m.  Te alcanzo dentro de paredes lineas de metal ondas de

20:10        Steel, the ocean is an iron fence most nights. Freezing Celcius water on my feverish Farenheart,

8:11 p.m. Nado como un ritmo y te anhelo como rima poética aunque

20:12     You’re in distant cafés or smoking on a Santiago porch in dead night with somber wings painted on your back,

8:13 p.m. Pero decís que no sos un ángel. Sos un espíritu que comparte mis deseos

20:14      Rebel off-the-grid fleeting aquarius love of my life, filled with patience

8:15 p.m. para mí, y asco para la ciudad que te rodea, sabemos que el destino queda en el París latinoamericano,

20:16    You, interlaced with destiny and destination, interlaced with the journey of

8:17 p.m. conocer todo lo que nos espera y llama, la ausencia ya no me duele

20:18      the nostalgia

8:19 p.m.  me quiere, pero también dejamos en el pasado las pieles cambiadas

La Ausencia

Hoy llovía,

pienso en Buenos Aires y tu alma.

Imaginé tus hombros

y recordé tu escritura.

Hoy las calles se mojaron

de mis ansiedades

que caen como lágrimas

en el silencio de tus oídos ausentes.

Hoy se abrió el cielo

y sentía tu rostro angélico

en el gran vacío

que no posee dirección ni sentido.

Capaz que estés viviendo

en el olvido de mis pasos

en tu camino.

Capaz que estés aguantando

así.

Pero yo aguanto por saber de ti

y mis huesos se sienten

vacíos

con tu mente tan lejos de aquí.

En tiempos de colera

En tiempos de ausencia

qué hace el corazón?

Se duerme,

aun que deja que los ojos se desvíen.

Se duerme con el sueño

de tiempos nostálgicos.

El sentimiento es la mitad

del amor;

que también es la convicción.

Vos tenés mi corazón;

hacéte responsable:

él que ama

tiene la responsabilidad

de cuidar.

y la que necesita

tiene la responsabilidad

de esperar.

En tiempos de envejecimiento,

uno no se debe abandonar

la convicción.

Enamorarse no es el amor entero.

sino el primer paso

en su camino.

Amor en tiempos de cólera;

por las horas que se le olvida al otro,

entre los segundos que pareces ausente,

el amor es la promesa interna

de continuar.

Grown

this poem jumps around a lot and is rather incoherent, I realized. but that in itself reflects my current state of mind

we played football in muddy fields at dusk

like kings of Suburban wilderness

and dinner plates.

under cement tunnels through urban rivers,

we ran in moonlight

and drank cartons of milk

on warm neighborhood nights,

living immortally.

now we pretend to still be that age,

talking trash in diners, staying up late

all night they still play video games,

walking to the movies at 1 a.m.

and finding plastic roses in the street.

We stood outside of his parents’ house

all our hearts grew a bit older

when he told us he’ll be married

and a father by June;

we won’t be running around

on open fields anymore.

and all my other friends have gone,

no more Denny’s 2 a.m.

or living with our mothers,

we now shed the light of dawn

and live in bright high noon,

fate’s rays beating down on our skin.

The people of our pasts

and the music never lasts,

we float in and out of reality.

some paths change in an instant,

some girls change you for forever,

some people end up in your arms

and some move on like distant stars…