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.

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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.

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–

On the Corner of Misery and Paradise

Of course I miss the beach,

echoed my mind.

I miss the darkness of LA’s night, soulful lost in the rushing roaring rampage of starless black sky who cradles one million faces lit by neon glow like visible loneliness. The beach held my sorrows, her constancy could wash my body in ocean tears, it was only me out there, surfing in her embrace,

in the velvet black water, black air, windswept solitary night where horizon melds with the mountains into which the sea melts,

despite the lonesome hours passed heartaching under blazing rays, nostalgia begins to form a callous over the void and fear that consumed those days and now I see her streets as beautiful, as I never would when my pulsing feet would drag across them waiting for time to accelerate

On the corner of Misery and Paradise, I chose bitterly to cry

eternally waiting at dusk bus stops, alone woman Venice night.

glass stores and garage doors, bringing pizza to soft hands and

warm windows on vacation and pushing on deep into the hours

of night so late they contain every mystery and silence that is held

between our ribs.

our fingertips touching dawn, we would sleep until dusk

so if sun blessed our skin it would feel more like a burn…

I was wrong, the city loved me all along

her time has yet to come,

but her vastness reminds me to be lonely

so I will only pass through

her hills and her valleys…

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…

Alone with the Town

my last friend left to Reno

drove through wildfires with his girl

and I’m alone in town

once I told him to get out

now I’m the only one who still comes round.

nowhere to cruise

in this country night of blue

Wal-mart and traffic lights glow

warm bodies stay inside

and watch the television glow

eating jello

heating water for tea in their midnight micro-

waves, oh

hell, I’m alone

again

on tile cold.

maybe I’ll shoot the bull

with the absent-minded, directionless voices in my head,

or blow my nose,

get the smoke out of my soul.

or play reggae guitar to the light of the moon

on my bed for two

missing you…

Yearning for Big Sur and salt and even Venice Beach,

when I’m really nostalgic,

tacos and lime

even Hawaii

your tongue and lips and throat

pronouncing my name

kissing my breath

on city wind night morning light sky roof

desolation,

that we were,

shouts and ATMs and sleepless Christmas

you were drunk and passionate

I was jaded-

I remember too often,

since life is small here–

but grand and golden in my heart:

its warm nights and my father’s eyes and mother’s arms

hometown heart beating the drum of my soul tune

and I want to cut through every town

and walk on dirty cement

trip on cobblestone

sit on crumbling curb

I love to dig the city, her footprints

her red, yellow, green stars

gas station moons

and diner suns

empty cinemas 1 a.m. drinking coca cola icees

by the light of the marquee

and her violet hair

my velvet and moonshine friends,

all silent now,

in far-off places

leaving me, for a short time,

alone in Desert town,

washed-up

past high school days

lingering

in longing…

Heart Don’t Die

neon glowing white

hot flame blank screen

pages of you to write

but I only wish to

sleep for milleniums

until I find love in the concaves

of my dreams.

aunts, neighbors, collegues

open their mouths and have an opinion

no one asks what makes me happy

only wonder in silence if I’ll ever make money.

they care profoundly

about the wrong parts of my future.

are too burrowed in their own sorrows

to manage any optimistic words.

this is the moment

when everyone demonstrates

how little

they’ve ever known me.

sitting on piles of Hard Work and Dedication

[busywork, wasted time, and bullshit

nothing is meaningful under the sun

I could only be dedicated to something I love]

vaguely, distantly proud

because I was on the path they took

that led them to such

bliss-inspiring stability.

I don’t want my heart to die

as I grow older

I want to forget routine

and bullshit.

I only want to bleed

and see the cities

breathe their smoke

cough while laughing

kiss strawberrily and sleep in a haze

film foreign obscure dark themes

and forget the American dream.

Sol del Barrio / Barrio Sun

I did this assignment before but now I feel like delving deeper…

Toes over cobblestone,

tumbleweed, cracks in pavement

train station

blues.

echoes of a suitcase

rolling down a quiet road

one girl

miles away from home.

restless wind

stirs in the corners

of the barrio

as faces watch

from porches of cumbia

and sweat.

soccer and dust

creaking railway

dusk and waiting

for a bus full of silent lips.

fear sits like food

in every stomach

filling us up to the brim

with love for the seconds

we spend breathing quietly

in summer tranquility

near and far from where we’ve come,

chokingly saying nothing

and softly knowing everything

under Buenos Aires sun…