30 December, 2013

An Ode to All My Lovers

Each of you have tasted
some sweet, dark corner
of the inside of my heart.

My career in love began late
but gained strange momentum
courtesy of you, and you, and you.

You have seen beauty in me
while I chose to maintain an affinity
for culture and memory.

Some of you have only visited
once, by your choice or by mine,
or by the great Lady Circumstance's.

Others carefully combine the ebb
and the flow of our chemistry,
transient yet repetitive visitors.

A select few, seemingly trapped,
covered in love and charm,
discount life's impermanence with me.

Lessons have been dealt out,
anger and happiness juggled,
with intention and haphazard lusts.

Yet these lovers, all together,
are strewn like strange crumbs on a blanket
and twinkle in my memory's sky.

Heartbreak can last eons, a fall-out,
and euphoria only moments, but we agree
that hesitation is for the afterlife.

Specs Haiku

Finite days cause ease.
Vain frames suit necessities.
Let's try to make out.


The year's twilight
bakes slowly while we wait
for conclusions.

Time passes for all
at its own speed, despite
all the measures in place.

This great amount of time
we call one year leaves
behind a glow of resolve.

Calamities, betrayals, lusts
and other sequences all
lift up their spirits to toast.

02 December, 2013

I Can't Figure You Out

All our love
and all our secrets
line wicked, neoned bar walls,
subject to deadlines and hunger.

And your truths
and their boredoms
equate to a great cinnamoned
warmth, ready to celebrate.

All our love
dispatched and patchworked
and seasoned truantly,
tastes like a decade.

And your fears
and my anxiousnesses
wash off in pyramids with
bubbles and action.

28 November, 2013

Feliz Dia de las Gracias

After fighting with Thanksgiving Eve urban Chicago traffic and then helping to brine a turkey last night, I began to wonder if I should care more about this holiday. So many people seem to get so stressed and excited and worried about travelling, setting the perfect table, roasting the perfect bird (or substitute for), and making sure no one is offended or left out. My pulse has never quickened at the thought of drumsticks, gravy, gladiator-style Christmas shopping, or remembering Pilgrims and their first winters in the New World. Despite this, as I took in the smell of brine and helped count out mouths to feed for the next day, I wondered if I have been missing the point all this time.

I’ve been making lists of that which I am thankful for all year- a practice I started to help keep me sane when I am overwhelmed, blue, or just pissed off. Maybe this is why I do not feel particularly drawn to give thanks today- I try to do it regularly. So, in the spirit of what I consider to be a very strange, morbid, and kind of wasteful holiday (which one isn’t, though?), I will share some of the things I have kept in mind during this year. My lists are much longer and usually more sentimental. I’ve tried to curb this and limit my gratitude to just fifteen, in some kind of order. Thanks for reading:

1) Inka Aureliano, my son. More specifically, I’m grateful for his perseverance, mental and physical health, and laughter. He lights up my heart. Inka is the person I will always love the most.

2) Independence. The knowledge that I am independent of mind and body, can address problems in my life and actively change them, only limited by my own indecision or procrastination.

3) Travel. My wanderlust is only matched by my lust of people. I cannot stay sane without leaving my home every few months. Whether to the purely American Jersey shore, or the streets of an ancient Moroccan market, the only reason I keep a steady job (other than keeping food in my son’s belly) is to pack my bags and go.

4) Humor. Without laughter, I'd be crying a whole lot more. Laughter keeps the ego in check, dusts off the heart, and it exercises the soul (or chemicals and electricity that make up what we call the soul).

5) Avocados. Every day.

6) Family and friends. Those I’ve loved for decades or merely a few months- I am eager to be able to write my memoirs one day, including all the lovely souls who have fueled my own, all my days on this earth.

7) My bilingualism. Not only does it make me feel cooler than people who only speak one language, but it helps with board games, writing poetry, and decoding the world. Time to learn a 3rd.

8) Running. It makes me sweat and my heart burn and my lungs ache but when I move my body, I remember I am capable of that which I set out to do... most of the time.

9) Books: non-fiction or fiction, children or adult, paper or hardback, books have always made me feel calm and free to live vicariously through the lenses of another human being.

10) Dissatisfaction. My neurosis with improving my own life as well as an attempt to better my son's life (and maybe others’) makes it so I am constantly trying to do something more. I want happiness like everyone else, but I'm glad I never seem to have it just quite right.

11) Women. Women are the true human, the most evolved of beings, strong and beautiful and capable and just… badass. I know so many amazing and powerful women and am truly priveledged in that regard.

12) Compliments. From lovers and friends, small positive phrases regarding something as trivial as appearance, or something much deeper, keep me afloat and remind me that I do not fail as a human.

13) Men. Even though they are strange, difficult creatures. They’re just so damn handsome and always make me weak in the knees.

14) The season of autumn. Leaves, scarves, ponchos, pumpkins, spooky stories, orchards, school, Halloween, long socks, autumnal smells, and everything else.

15) Doing my dishes the night before instead of the next morning. Waking up to a clean kitchen is similar to going to sleep in a bed that’s been made.

22 November, 2013

Pulpo de Gallega Haiku

Myst’ry book passions
from delayed circumstances.
Transatlantic stares.

Crying Over Boys

I’m surrounded by boys
to cry over

The flavor of some week
or the one that got away

Surrounded by uneven
importances to cry over

Only one’s tantrum gets
my attention

Crying over boys, lit up
and cheeks dry

All the loves gone sour
curdle without spite

Crying, my tantrums cover
all of theirs

I spill salt over the biggest
smallest love.

Piping on the Outside

Happy Yom Kippur
or St Nick’s, Valentine’s, Patrick’s
Happy any Saturday

Courageousness grows
over years, with melodies
and new old new friends

Lights and adrenal glands
and powerful feelings of great love
are sung and used and felt

Affection trembles through
the floors as the space unites with
its dreamlike power

07 October, 2013

Symphony No. 7

It is that rare, chronically
uninterrupted dance with
the grief of life that
can detonate the heart:
Sitting and clinging as if
tiny grains of glassy sand,
it settles into bones, unable
to be separate of its own weight.

Hot and Heavy

Hot and heavy air leftover from
July cook-outs and August vacations
feels embarrassed and overweight.

The wispy crispy winds are late,
with noisy, fretting joints wandering
from September onward.

Spice is in vogue, but the sweat
still dances, salted, with calm
seabreezes and sunlit minerals.

The days are still soft and pillowy,
but the witchy smells enter pores,
flattening and drying out leaves.

Manufactured stones and
controlled lawns are calmly blanketed
with everyone’s shivers.

09 September, 2013

Conservatory Haiku

With the plants that are
greenly bathed in light, in the

A Summer's Worth

You can smell the gin from
the other side of the street.
The sway and swagger of people,
indecisive and mischievous,
match the fragrance well.

As the misaligned, misinformed pilgrims
dance on one another’s graves,
they smile on without purpose, boasting
of ancient cultures and assuming
the veil of impermanence.

A feeling much like that
of a fruit-fly or bag of trash,
sinks into skins, marinating souls and
adding to Summer’s spice,
which burns the tongues and all organs.

The disposable nature created during
the sweaty run of the vernal months
washes away hope once felt during
the Spring, previously deadened by
Winter, with unrequited attentions.

On beaches and in booths and with
stony silences, the mingling of
breaths and intentions, with spirits and
Spirit, a fragile bubble of cheer,
leave the season in a fit.

Smelling the many hopes dashed and
left to drain out, those swaggering
wonder if there’s any room for
love still, or if the gin smell has burned
all the bridges of expectation.

20 August, 2013

On some Shore

On some shore, any shore,
that notates the passing of time
and circumference of rocks,
we sit.

On some shore, gray shore,
which separates true love from
just lust, sand sticking with heat,
we gaze.

On some shore, sunny shore,
calming the blood and breath
with an uncanny rhythm, slow,
we rest.

On some shore, any shore,
where air meditates and Venus’
foam decorates elements,
we smile.

16 August, 2013

Baseball Haiku

With dust in our eyes,
you laugh, swing mercilessly.
Bat's taller than you!

Briny Summer

Hung up on an unlove with
the summer temperature matching
that of the blood inside veins,
this salted, vinegared season
lasts only so long as the tongue warrants.

Tastefully, with regret that
mixes with grease, bubbles dance
in between teeth and hostile
history as buses scream past and
actions are accounted for.

22 July, 2013

Mid-Atlantic Haiku

Worry's left to bleach
while birds spook us into smiles
on neon boardwalks.

23 May, 2013


Certainly not in love
but not without the feeling’s precision,
questions marks are
strewn about the freshly-mopped floor,
sticking to moistened skin.

Kind gestures are tacky
and unneeded- the curved marks
keep sticking to the skin,
unable to be swept up and
sewn into answers, formulas.

Rhythms left unnoticed
suddenly are neon and bold,
forcing the sharpened edges of
the mysteries to dig deeper
into foot-heels and hand-palms.

These crazed patterns point
to remedies based on pride
and adaptation; an insane
tenaciousness, like a tick,
creates strange tendencies.

Shamelessness, and astute,
genuine, peaceful conversation
both do nothing to appease
the questions leftover, thrown
like breadcrumbs for children.

Quiet, inverse operations
battle the way things should be;
what’s left of the mystery
can only be solved by pure
interest and sincere action.

30 April, 2013

The Kissing Cult- Day 30

On the hunt for
the perfect kiss,
o’er mountains and
under bridges
and through time,
the prime character
searches, kissing
countless creatures
whilst unable to
remember just how
this hunt began.

Relinquishing her
capacity to feel,
the heroine moves
quickly and silently,
never harassing
but easily able to
convince anyone
who crosses her
haphazard pass
to kiss her, foolishly
not understanding.

Soon, drawn by the
primal search for that
which seems to be
unmistakably true,
our protagonist is
followed by those
she has already been
able to enchant,
themselves bitten
by the quest for the
perfect, complete kiss.

She ignores them,
as they failed her tests,
failed to give her
the chance to turn
back on the organs
in her middle, but lets
them follow behind.
Nothing gets in her way;
her resolve keeps her
safe, tends to her wants,
and maintains strength.

Nap Time- Day 29

Squirm and fight me
all you want!

As soon as the Sun
hits your cheeks
and your limbs
go limp,
and your eyes
droop quietly,
I will win this
most epic battle.

Your daily protests
recharge midday.

29 April, 2013

Routine Haiku- Day 28

To write a poem
when there are no sadnesses
is not very fun.

Hotel Mari Carmen- Day 27

Iremos pronto a la
isla de mi juventud,
para ver las chozas
abandonadas y los peces
nadando en agua
cristalina y pura.

Brizas tropicales,
un Sol mundial y
arena quema-piel,
que nos relaja con su
falta de responsabilidad
y paz romántica.

Esta isla contiene los
secretos dejados allí
por años; era joven antes
y ahora busco estos
secretos escondidos
como tesoros de pirata.

Forces- Day 26

Gravity is our paste.
It holds bones and stars together.

Electromagnetism dominates.
It makes things react, and re-react.

Strong force binds atoms.
It sounds like a sci-fi trick.

Weak force is crucial to fission.
It plays with neutrinos.

25 April, 2013

Zombie Haiku- Day 25

Ghouls, slowly lurching,
in numbers remain strong, but

Canela- Day 24

Escuchándote hablar
sin verte ni ponerte
mucha atención, mientras
que las canciones
que nos acurrucaban
antes tocan su melodía
elástica y frondosa,
descanso mi mente sin
que te des cuenta de la
falta de emociones
que últimamente corren
entre mis venas.

24 April, 2013

Ping-Pong- Day 23

The ball hits a grey, loose net
and frustrates both opponents
with joy and exact momentum,
its plastic circumference wafting
in a Pacific breeze that secludes
and seduces the keeping of score,
itself an inexact science due to
the chaos of spherical energies.

22 April, 2013

California Haiku- Day 22

Sunshine beats on us
lackadaisically with
some informal love.

Battle Royale- Day 21

Batting eyelashes
star-gazed glares.

A “how do you do”
both instantly.

One evening’s
forces energy.

Library Haiku- Day 20

Stacks of ancient words
sit at a reference table.
I always see you!

Labor's Value- Day 19

What is the virtue of labor?
Accomplishment, or determination
or perhaps just perseverance-
these brave words of good intentions
describe how the feeling of working
inherently benefits the heart.

One should work because idle hands
are evil, and not working is cowardly,
and insincere, and irresponsible-
but the reason for laboring should
not be for the intrinsic value of getting
something done, but improvement.

Instead of toiling for the rich and
feeling sickly from coal or lack of sleep
or insignificant pay, the role of labor
should benefit mankind and showcase
our imagination, strength, solidarity,
its virtue in the bettering for all.

18 April, 2013

Earthworm Eulogy- Day 18

Big fat drops
bring big fat worms
outside onto Badlands.

Rain smashes onto
brown worm faces,
tricking them to swim.

Wriggling and laughing,
fatty worms gleefully
lack despair.

Don’t stay out!
These Badlands aren’t
always lovely and wet.

Unpredicted rains
start and stop,
stranding them still.

Poor big fat worms
slither and wrinkle
into dried fruits.

17 April, 2013

El Coferin- Day 17

There’s a monster living
underneath my floor.

All who’ve come to visit
have left concerned and disgusted.

His voice is metallic and
his gaze is deadening.

He eats children during the day
and many ales at night.

Never sleeping, this creature
argues with the living, loudly.

Without an ounce of guilt, I
solemnly wish for his demise.

Every day that passes without his
death is a test in patience.

His bite is weak, though, and he
cannot vanquish anything above.

Astronomy- Day 16

Ancient distances, covered
and fueled by hydrogen
all up in outer space, effectively
mystify creatures on Home Planet,
creating reasons for looking
up, doing geometry, and trying
to get an A on a test about novae.

Pato Haiku- Day 15

Rutina siempre:
No se encuentran los patos!
Noche de llanto.

14 April, 2013

Spring Haiku- Day 14

October feelings
are tricks of the trade since the
greys have not washed out.

13 April, 2013

The Explorer- Day 13

With momentum and gentle force,
the explorer confronts a new discovery
with incredible passion and brave interest.

No obstacle, be it climate or fauna,
has the ability to obstruct this seeker from
that which has been found, haphazardly.

Unearthing, uncovering quickly but
with great detail, the pioneer shakes out
the setting and attacks the finding, hastily.

This explorer, finally satiated by the
success of discovery, rests after meticulous
observation, renewed and bewildered.

Hazard- Day 12

Hazard lights are on while the reactions
to old emotions differ, finally.

Hope maintains a steady, grueling pace but
does not flash with obvious intent.

Peaceful stasis, filled with caution and
memory, is carefully shared.

11 April, 2013

Love Song Haiku- Day 11

Naked truths sing out:
Cohen’s on the stereo.
Spring rains sound like love.

10 April, 2013

Houndstooth Hustle- Day 10

Meeting under bright, drunken lights which stream neon
onto the faces of those underneath, and while
slow balladeers beating taut drums to entice movement
in a deeply chemetic cloud of anonymity and
chances. And with flourish from grain and the knowledge of
impermanence, these tightly wound embraces
make patterns on an unlit street, and fated encounters
prove helpful for the gusts of cold winds.

Rice Closet- Day 9

Deep rice cooks
in a heavy pot.

Laughter scatters,
spilling its grain.

A closet shrinks,
boasting renewal.

No barter required,
just total connection.

08 April, 2013

Jazz- Day 8

Jazz-club feelings
rattle the Sundaytime blues
with loud.

Rhythms uncharmed
but counted, circle through
fleshes, wild.

Keep the beat and
demonstrate abilities of
full adaptation.

Roaring temptations
pour outside, ringing through
shiny brass.

Silence sweats on,
causing sweet, unpredicted,
bare pauses.

07 April, 2013

El Asunto- Day 7

Inspirada por viejos amantes
y nuevas oportunidades,
se sienta bajo el sol.

Horas pasan, desnudas y
furiosas, demandando que
su inquietud se calme.

Las caricias del sol no
son suficientes para

La paciencia baja a un
nivel, sus pasiones como
un molino de chocolate.

Ardorosamente pausa,
bajo el sol, para pensar
en momentos extinguidos.

06 April, 2013

King Spa Haiku- Day 6

Curves are all around.
King Tut lets us pray and sweat.
Let’s just all relax.

05 April, 2013

Esposa Haiku- Day 5

The redhead's been hitched!
Phrasal verbs are her White Whale.
Esposas always.

04 April, 2013

Spring Fever- Day 4

Coats are flung on the floor
as electrons heat up the day,
the axial tilt creating
haphazard behaviors.

Aroused senses feast on
the circular, celestial
labors of rhythms that seem
effortless and intentional.

Woolen items, covering
curves and hibernation,
are crumpled into a pile and
ignored until months pass.

Nights try to cool the avidity
felt throughout the day,
but the eve’s temperatures
do little to prevent.

Every morning gains speed
and warmth is carried
with smiles and embraces
that have waited patiently.

Smaller and thinner fabrics
mark desires that have rested,
gaining potential and
insane demand.

Excess light and lack of
obstacles in climate
create patterns in longing
meant to be repeated.

03 April, 2013

Aurora- Day 3

I awoke at dawn, with
a body covered in sweat,
cotton and Night clinging to my
electric, syncopating skin.

The Green from a bottle
splashed through the room
because of the new Sun
coming through the window.

No one could see what
I saw, Green and Sweat
sinking into sheets as I tried
to sway back to sleep.

This fever was lustful, not
viral, and so I breathed
quietly, allowing preserved
memories to dictate the day.

02 April, 2013

Unsolved Mysteries- Day 2

Her rouged lips smile gently,
rounding out a cigarette perfumed
by anticipation and moisture,
as she begs him for assistance. (Please!)

The door swings shut, clicking
and demonstrating Private!
I’m with a client, come back another
time, or out to lunch, or drunk. (Clink!)

He sits, sweaty greyed hat on a rack
in a dusty corner, smoke racing round
the room with a half-finished bottle
next to an unloaded pistol. (Bang!)

If there’s nowhere else to turn,
most likely you’ll end up without
answers, a pocketbook empty
and a run in your stocking. (Sigh.)

She faces, legs crossed and poised,
fake tears wetting a handkerchief
given to her by another man whom she
swindled with laughter and tales. (Coy.)

He knows all the ins and all the outs,
with experience growing silver lines
in his hair and creases on his skin.
Experience doesn’t outweigh intrigue. (Hmm.)

They both play boldly, laying traps
and smoothing out the attractions
predictable and not, that lay on top of
the wooden desk between their legs. (Gotcha!)

I suppose I could help, but it will
cost a pretty penny. The secretary’s out
to lunch so I’ll have to do all the paperwork
myself. You don’t… mind? (Ask?)

The tweed suit undulating around her
aching figure is too hot for the stuffy room
but the timing is too soon for such
obvious tricks- her blouse underneath steams. (Sweat.)

No, I suppose if you must, but I wish you’d just start.
She knows he knows, and he is aware of
that too. The room is screaming for air
and the smoke from their cigarettes thickens. (Gasp!)

He studies her, she looks away, taking a drink.
They both reel one another in, easily
forgetting the mystery at hand, tweed skirts and
old suits sopping up the chemistry. (Slow.)

Without warning, he jumps up from the desk
and rushes to open a window next to her.
Though startled, she remains motionless,
just waiting for the breeze to attack them both (Woosh!)

He’s closer to her now, and the cool breeze
mops up all their communal heat and rushes it
outside while they sit serenely blissful, both thankful
for his deliberate action after much hesitation. (Finally!)

I guess you have the details, thank you
for your time- she puts out her cigarette and
rearranges her skirt. I’ll be in touch- he opens the door,
watches her walk away, straightening his tie. (Slack.)

London Haiku- Day 1

Politics and Gray
gleam over the fair city.
Forty cups of tea.

31 March, 2013

April Fool

Old memories made of
carrot cake
stain freshly laid
plans bestowed upon
the young.

You fool!
Fretting and scribbling
schedules and resentments,
cake crumbs on a tiled floor,
chilled still.

Such old pain
tastes stale, nutmeg and
cinnamon unable to mask
sour stresses
unable to be resolved.

26 March, 2013

Bowling Haiku

Bears bowl while we stand.
Intergalactic setting.
Perfect idea.

17 March, 2013

We are Strangers

We are strangers.
Simply put, we are strange unto each other
Tempers fret and salted wounds tear open.
Memory claws through scarred tissue,
though we scream, and numb, and ignore.

We are strangers.
We easily assume, and are equally betrayed
Muscled, predicted rhythms carry old energy.
No matter how many erasers are rubbed, piled,
the potential of ached nostalgia proves indelible.

We are strangers.
Simply put, the see-saw we sit on mocks us
Disappointment, honest rage, and withered hope
are not enough to mask the permanent familiarity
which haunts our strangeness, reminding silently.

Sunday Haiku

Sundays are best spent
with a lover, not homework.
Ennui without end.

12 March, 2013

Future Tense

It is apparent that my writing of poetry has diminished in these past few months, due to a lack of inspiration, a surplus of hibernation, and the decision of preparation- that preparation is for my first public reading of work, set on Saturday, March 23rd at 3:00PM at the Evanston Public Library. Any and all are welcome and encouraged to attend; there will be poems about trees and animals and vegetables and broken hearts, both in Spanish and English.

After this public reading, I will resume my annual month-long "one poem a day" tradition during the month of April, and subsequently will be concentrating strictly on prose- all this will hopefully be culminating in a published piece of tangible, written word some time later this year.

Next stop, rocket-science.

Winter Ennui Haiku

Frost’s desolation.
Stereotyped sexy theme:
Spring is a climax.

Business Card Haiku

Rounded versus square.
Sans serif or italics?
Adult decisions.

Pope Haiku

Take off your big hat!
Nobody likes a quitter.
God may kick you out…

17 January, 2013

The Prince

The prince, yet uncrowned and unbound
By vanity, mortality, or heartbreak,
Runs, fascinated by the verb’s infinitive.

To shout, to laugh, to eat, to rest:
These are still treasures, guarded in a magical
Box given once to him by wise Bedouins.

This young prince, still part jester and knave,
Wages through forests and hillsides, exploring
With unkempt cloth and wild spirit twixt his eyes.

His balance and surefootedness is challenged
By whimsy and lack of experience, but
His fascination with All surpasses any obstacle.

He steals light with a paramount Jovian smile
Studded with intergalactic forces from lost love,
Which manages to bend the light’s beams into place.

Rambunctious and exuberant, this prince
is still new in the world, but gains speed and skill,
training naturally for Time’s trickery and spells.

With the treasures in his box and the gleam
In his merry eyes, he can know no despair
And spreads his even cheer with grace, neutrally.

For now, to shout, to rest, to smile, to dream:
His favorite past-times lie in reciting sounds
And seeing wondrous birds take flight.

15 January, 2013


Battling the depths of Winter
is difficult.
Its space gathers frost, spreading out
over everything.
Solitude and Grey are fated companions,
singing gently.
Battling with amour and light and patience
exhausts all.
The obstacles are chronic, aching bones
and hearts.
Its ravines and sierras seem impassable,
slowly freezing.
Winter whets appetites for climax
and bloom.
Patience is heralded, along with wool
and sunlight.