10 December, 2014

If by Chance

These lands, they miss me
but not as much as I miss them

You are all so disappointing—
Exquisite, released love

I want to be adored
by a beautiful man

I have no control over
whether or not I have hope

Nothing is set,
castles rebuild and recrumble

Spices drift up out of garbage
smiling, love spread wide open

What do you consider
love to truly be

Sonatas master standards
and dried paint still flakes off

I saw you inside Blue,
missed lands never remembered

Someone brought popcorn,
salty adoration spilled and left

23 November, 2014

In November

Joy touched down one evening,
unmade plans and unsure thoughts
bright smiles in blue

Each smile in a champagne bubble
floating to the top of a glass
bursting with glow

A reunion based in another time
the grooves had been pressed in before,
the beats already known

The Pacific air cut through those souls
dancing in each other’s shadows
drinking them in

Love in a vacuum still acts the same
heat under hearts and blankets
follow the tempo

What could have been, was,
no weight of expectation
a perfect vacuum

Songs hoisted out of lungs
to serenade one another all contained
ideal melodies

Songs and sunlight and melancholic operas
being savored by two explorers in a
tiny bed

These pure champagne-tinged moments
burst quickly, memories quaking with
pleasure and pain

Once the bottles were empty and
bubbles were gone,
the songs paused

The vacuum opened to a larger one
explorers parted ways to make new tales
for each other

All the Poems in the World

All the poems in the world
are about the empty
space in the bed

And all the operas
are about murder

End of nights and new moons
rip stillborn sadnesses fresh
without anesthesia

The operas describe
perfect afternoons

Middle of days and clouds
soften the night’s powers
comforting slowly

All the poems sit
in that empty bedspace.

Words and song notes
wander around through woods
on small islands

The singers’ volumes
heal eve’s injuries.

Spaces left empty, still warm
are misplaced recollections
of leftover energy.

Poets react equally to balance
wistful relief.

New Moon

All the women in the world
cried at the same time
one day

The moon looked on and
was bounced around from
tear to tear

All the men sat stunned
sincerely in awe of such powerful

This eternal sadness rang out
rivaling the weight of glaciers
and wind’s speeds

All the children gazed up
at their weeping mothers
in pure fear

Those who were built to comfort,
the women, gazed down and
still sobbed

This simultaneous howl
bewitched the planet
refracting light

All the women cried and time stopped
and the men and children feared
and the moon danced

02 November, 2014


The day my brother died
a monarch sat on my shoulder
in the park
for twenty

Time is infinite and glowing
and we all belong
to each other
but monarchs and death
still don’t add up
to anything

Oh, it must have been him!
– She said
but I’m pretty sure
it was just a lost butterfly
tired and maybe dizzy
This isn’t their season

Then again, it wasn’t his season
to get poisoned by his own blood
and die in a room alone
in just

It’s much better
not to waste moments
thinking about
special they are

28 September, 2014


Sun out, fielded
First to home,
rhythms of runs
and cheers up to bat.

Markers of times spent
Before and in the future
stepped on and run around

Even time used with even talent
Stunted days growing shorter
giantly swing for antigravity
lost in twilight glee.

One more time around
One more reason to run
In gloomy shade
innings are counted.

23 September, 2014

Autumn IV

Woolen memories shaken out
Unwrinkling under crisp Sun

Tilting in Space heralds nostalgia
A twinge under the nose and heart

Momentum counts now
The air is slowing down

This sloth and sweet pain
Is orange and keen

Short shadows brace themselves
For neglect and frost.

Otoño, Amor

El Otoño es lo que uno siente
Cuando se enamora

La primera vez contiene pavor
Hojas caídas, corazónes abiertos

La electricidad de la Vida
Baila en los huesos

Mañanas frescas, apuradas
Y noches largas, acompañadas

La mente corre para mantener
Calor, evidencia de interés.

Cuantos poetas inspirados por
Hojas muertas y corazones heridos

Todos los amores de la vida
Pasan por el Otoño.

La segunda vez es de reírse
Jugar bajo un Sol más débil

Energias vacilan entre
Aire libre y albergue

Miedo se convierte
En juicio y mantenimiento

El amor se reserva
Para las primaveras.

Después, uno se hace mordaz
Cada vez que se caen las hojas.

Un rojo en la Tierra
Que se siente en el alma

Cada amor complicado
Se siente más sencillo

El Otoño es amor
Cada hoja una sonrisa, lagrima

Mientras llega su magia
El amor sobrevive

12 September, 2014

First Day of School

You're big like a crayon
and still soft

Tufts of hair and enthusiasm
sprout out of you.

First day of every day
which becomes routine.

Never again will freedom ring
No, you're not special.

Its cousin, imagination,
is to be contained now.

Your merit will now
be measured in red.

Classmates dressed samely
putter around, hoarding milk.

This is a truth now
you had no decision in it.

Your experience is ancient
yet for you, almost divine.

You're still so small though,
and quite useless.


I'll scramble you
if you scramble me
Diced words and bacon fat
maybe some patience.

I'll flip it so both sides
feel and react
that smell
wakes everyone up.

You set the table
I'll bring the sauce
to keep from burning
all the toast.

Scrambled, forked, and
eaten finally, with
minced meats and careful spices
energy restores.

10,000 Miles

10,000 miles away, on a seashore,
two souls sat in sunlight.

Reading and bathing,
suddenly they were in love.

Under their fingers
in between their toes

Granules of sand and glass,
pieces of star and stone,
mixed with marrow
and heat.

10,000 miles away, on Earth's edge,
two lovers laughed about their love.

History and honesty effortlessly present,
mingling into the sand.

The switch had been activated
and all they could feel was potential.

Their love was all over their skin,
slashing them with future aches,
washing off doubt and sweat.

10,000 miles away as sun set,
they enjoyed practically everything.

Their smiles showcased this love
and created more of it on this shore.

The sea couldn't rinse them of it,
chaotically frothing white.

Quietly in love, they knew
that sun and sea would soon sleep
their euphoria to continue in dreams.

12 July, 2014

The Triumph

And just like that, the triumph is gone.
We all cope awkwardly
with the end of this triumph.
We all remember laughter most,
and weep when it is gone.
And that triumph in laughing
despite ending, sends movement
forward for other triumphs.

But the cease of it
can conquer all joy.

We all have someone to mourn,
someone to let go of,
someone who, when their triumph ends,
will cause ruptures in us.
Coping and laughing,
shared space and patterns,
empathy blankets and comforts
as our lights go out one by one.

1000 Love Letters

1000 love letters
sent by 1000 lovers
all say the same thing.

I'm crazy (for you)!
Are you crazy too?
Let's run away together.

1000 love letters
cause 1000 kisses
stretched over eons.

Wars lost and won
over beauty and sorrow
with blood matching passion.

1000 love letters
leave 1000 lovers
gasping for air, lusting.

Life moves forward
expanding over land
based on papers and ink.

1000 love letters
bring 1000 tears
friendships ending.

Why has it ended, must it?
Who is she/he?
What did I do wrong?

1000 love letters
saved in 1000 boxes
keep our nostalgia working.

This love and that love
all fit in envelopes
carefully ignored.

1000 love letters
teach 1000 lessons
with and without pain.

Readiness for new love
with reminders written
in tender scripts, recalled.


The sound of your darkened voice
is a winter, suddenly lost.

I'd never felt your ancient heart
so visibly soft.

Your sadness crackles over invisible lines
while I gasp for breath.

Leftover guilts and past inactions
test current faiths.

Cycles, always present, proving themselves,
erupt in fear and surprise.

Lost time's price is itself.
Nothing can pass without transfer of funds.

The weight of regret lengthens,
steaming and unforgiving, in the chest.

Happiness depends on belief's suspension
ruined by drastic failures.

Where were we then, before all was lost
and how will we return?

Your heart is stopped by another's inability
and mine screams out too.

Pleasant Haiku

Hours lost in turn.
Under mobiles, in the dark.
Effortless jig-saw.

Haiku de Mexico

Hello again, friend.
Never left, never started.
You neon me still.

18 April, 2014

Vivir Para Contarla

The first story I ever wrote was about a raindrop who got lost in a river. She cried and cried, and her tears made it even harder to be found. She swam and cried and yelled at her family on the riverbank. Eventually her intuitive mother saw her surrounded by other droplets and the raindrop was saved. I was seven.

My love of words and desire to write (probably more “proper” now, but also more inhibited), is due to three people. The first was my mother- who gave me my first library card, painstakingly waiting every Sunday at the library while I picked out the ten books I planned to read that following week. Even more incredible was her ability to put up with my countless library fines, a habit I still have yet to grow out of. If my mother gave me the tools I needed to read anything and everything, it was my father who demonstrated the power of innovation. As he invented new tales night after night, my brother and I would lay on the floor next to Gustavo’s seemingly immense bed, wide-eyed and exhausted, anticipating a denoument that could terrify or enthrall us. His imagination remained unrivaled… until I read Cien Años de Soledad for the first time.

I can’t recall the exact age I was when I began reading what would become a texted imbedded in my very marrow. It was sometime after I started menstruating, but many years before my first kiss. This book changed my life forever. Gabriel Garcia Marquez, for me, was completely and instantaneously divine. As an atheist, I use this word very deliberately. Any lover of words has that one particular writer who can unravel their soul. Marquez was mine- moreover, anyone knowing me intimately knows this as well. His novels, short stories, essays showcase the strange mystifying power he had to describe what rests inside all our hearts. His worldview was deeply whimsical, intoxicatingly romantic, and fatalistically comical. One of the cultural grandparents of Latin America, Gabo shown brightly, lighting our way through love affairs and civil wars and deaths foretold with the buoyancy of tiny little yellow butterflies. He instilled in me the absolute necessity to express through written word, and moreover gave me confidence to believe the things which I felt to be true. His death was timely, this cannot be argued. But once in a while for a choice few of us, even enough years on this planet are not enough. His words will rest in my heart forever.

La vida no es la que uno vivió, sino la que uno recuerda, y cómo la recuerda para contarla. -Gabriel Garcia Marquez

15 April, 2014


The brain pulses,
convulsing and full of
always wondering when
the pulsing may end.

All the lengths of Time
have passed, mercilessly
sliding by without
signals of dissipation
or any kind of peace.

Tiny twists of fate
bloom upward,
inventing again what
was lost in the
silences now melted.

The catharsis of this
fate combines with
the uncertainties hidden
behind closed hearts
and in empty bottles.

When will the cycle
break- when will the
sour feeling of
solitude and weakness
burn out, finally hydrated?

With these winds
Comes Green and Color
and a peaceful
resolution to a night filled
with disorder, Calm’s opposite.

Now, maybe with some
water and a few sprinkles
of interest, the aftereffect
will cease, after years of
wondering when.

Solitude and sour sweat
can be replaced with
equilibrium, position,
all in flower beds that
peek up from Hades.

Still yet, a cure-all is
never found. Night sweats
and early mornings
do nothing to contain
misplaced passions.

The earth is still thawing
and April’s attempts to
sober up the landscape
prove in earnest and
without due appreciation.

All that can cure these
trembles of uncertainty
is the patience Fate
gives as the petals turn
to face the Sun.

The heart cannot remain
hungover forever-
the buzzing fades, the
flowers grow upward,
the dizziness disappears.

09 April, 2014

Spring Fights

Splash some Spring on
our pale faces.

Just spit it right into
my eyes- go on!

Fight me based on
pesky inhibitions,

We’ve been asleep
for countless days.

Wounds heal faster
when the Sun is out.

Shake it off, let it bleed,
step outside and see.

Stop whining and stop
dancing without contact.

Cowardice is an ice,
the thaw is here, and sunny.

Splash the blood of
Spring all over, messy.


I was meant to have more love than this
and yes even I, am nostalgic.
Frailty may be my antithesis, and frivolity
my adoration, my Great While Whale;
but even I feel its stab, its puncture.

She sat sadly pondering, scheming of
plots to seduce and get lost in.

Schemes came and went, generally
haphazardly and without much regret.

This became its own homeostasis
a perfect perpetual inquisition.

It was a failure to realize that love
only lasts as long as it lasts, no more.


You remind me
and always have,
of the letter B.

Straight back,
big head, big
belly, big baby.

Broodish and
brown, often a
big bother.

You, little bee,
always busy and
annoyingly bright.

02 April, 2014


Respóndeme sin palabras, diciéndome que me has amado
por siempre.

Dime que te enloqueces pensando en mi cuerpo, boca, ojos,
con lujuria.

Ruégame que te ame, que sigamos enamorados, ciegos y
sin razones.

Regálame porquerías que yo luego quiera tirar al basurero,
con risa.

Dame la oportunidad de rechazarte, de ignorarte, brava y
con fuerza.

Defiéndete con llantos y declaraciones antiguas, amenazando
sin poder.

Vuélvete loco por mí, destrozado por amor y rechazo, cubierto
de lagrimas.

Flying through Clouds

Sugar-caked clouds
lay shadows on petrified ground
keeping the pieces frozen.

Mirroring outer Space,
these saccharine beasts
float in the air, hesitant to dissipate.

Flying through a layer of cosmic stuff,
the clouds, now beneath,
braid together, softly white and infinite.

Travelling from one end to the other
is like time travel, directionless
and sweetly unbounded.

12 March, 2014

The Orgy

The orgy took place, obviously, that Spring:
an entire polis, as if rehearsing diligently
all throughout the barren months of the year,
managed to climax together.

Soon after the Great Melts, as they would
one distant day be called by great distant
people, the Sun began flirtatiously
dancing again on Skin, Hair- causing Heat.

These Great Melts caused massive floods-
in between bedsheets and beneath curtains,
pouring through the ceilings and into cellars,
all the Ice streamed into puddles on streets.

Large lakes made from passions and melted
snow, threatening with months of tired,
dirty, unforgiving weight, encompassed all
and made the Orgy wet and tremendous.

No one was prepared or equipped
with the necessary provisions of thesse
newly found rabid energies, previously
entangled with blankets and cold winds.

Aching joints and soft muscles covered
in mucous were at once lifted into sensual
movement, unreleased, frenzied, filled with
the vernal memory of intimacy and flowers.

Frenzy, of course, lead to the famous Dog Days,
when Time became too heavy to leap
from fat idleness to unscripted passion,
and instead sat stubbornly still, sweating.

The Orgy had lasted for only months, rolling,
finally reaching its own peak once the
sweat was no longer novel and the Sun
began to stay out longer than needed.

The Daydream

The best part of all when one’s sweet on someone is not precisely
that moment when they finally speak to you, instantly or over
the telephone, or most elusively in the face to face sort of
way. Nor is it the actual meeting and exchange of glance
and breath and time, even though one would think this
would be the bull’s-eye… It comes at Solitude’s pace,
in between the hours of the day that require care,
filling in these fissures with a physical, buoyant
light. This moment to decide the where, who,
and when, all directed inwardly for a stab of
self-love and self-loathing. This daydream
makes the possibilities seem glorious,
no matter the improbability of such
a fantasy being replicated by The
Reality. Small bursts of joy go
into the veins, feeding cells
and causing the body
itself to continue
working, if only
to prove that
help to

27 January, 2014

Lost in Blue

Lost in blue that
comes out of you
with a seamless
wave of careless joy.

Lost in blue that
still rings true
after moments'
perfections, always coy.

Lost in blue that
sticks like glue
and covers charms
between girl and boy.

Lost in blue that
comes out of you
with a seamless
wave of careless joy.

21 January, 2014

La Riqueza del Pecado

Entre tú y yo, te digo,
que cuando suenan los acordes
sonámbulos, amantes del sentido
para oír, un delirio de la belleza
floreada y sin apostrofes,
la riqueza del pecado se hace real.

Entre tú y yo, te digo,
que marchar en las nieves Norteñas,
sin cuidar el alma, que ni dan
socorro a los amores perdidos,
derriten la energía fina creada
por un Sol aislado guapo.

Entre tú y yo, te digo,
que vivir en esta Tierra con
tantas maravillas vivas, sabiendo
que un dia morirán, causa temor
que solamente se puede consolar
con la voz de un tequila.

Entre tú y yo, te digo,
que todas las palabras inventadas,
arquetipos de lo que ya uno lleva en
su mente primordial, nunca son
suficientemente grandes para soportar
tanto frenesí y paz tangible.

Relentless Winter Haiku

Souls pummeled with snow
trail icicles and rock salt.
Just wear miniskirts.

17 January, 2014


A precise and convincing
balance of elemental reason,
through your engineering, brings:

The most surprising, weightless
gift of unconditional Love.

The only true attempt at ones
removal of the distracting Ego.

An unpredicted, yet tangible
example of enlightened Fate.

A renewal in the usability and
purpose of unmatched Patience.

The reminder to never deny a
moment of flawless Laughter.

An intuition which discerns
effects of palpable Tempo.

Speeds and weights increase, and you,
made of cosmic, fossil elements,
will continue to enthrall me always.