imiss you.

The boys were born of gasoline,

one spark away from burning

like rocket children into the night

air. And wherever they went, a dense

haze of sweet-tasting yet gag-inducing

confusion was sure to follow. The girls

loved the smell of their flammability.

They captured it in mason jars and

snuck it home underneath their white

dresses. The glass jars, filled with so

much passionate vapor, would clink

from below the beds. Soft noises

that made them feel open all over.

The boys knew this, especially the red

one with the funny face, and they loved it.

Maybe I might taste you tonight

in some empty stinging glass

or see your face like rosy sunshine

in the darkened crowd before the band.

They are swelling with emotion,

everyone around. "Stay with me"

we plead together, "don't want to be alone,"

but we can't pick up the telephone,

or stand the smell of what we are at home:

just ourselves. Our poor, tawdry

ass-dragging backwards little selves.

Sleeping on it, sleeping on it so,

sleeping with it, keeping with it

cause we can never let it go.

carmen bajo

carmen bajo el cielo

andando hacia un grupo

nuevo de olores,

sabores, na na na

no importa, na na na,

no importa si nos vemos

o mas tarde, si, si, si me quedo

carmen bajo los portales

azules de la calle

esa fuente ya no tiene

agua pa tomar

y si murieramos de sed

aqui despacito en la plaza

mandare tus huesos

tus besos por los ciclos

de mis ultimos alientos.

asi, creo que todo

seria bien.

bien? bien. bien? bien.

biennnnn.

They were rejoicing in the aisles

and the supervisors could not believe

their superior eyes.

Champagne and caveats washed away

the weary before they even had the inclination

of begging, "no more."

And all the while I was dancing out of my skin

and you were diffusing threatening conversations

and the workers of the world

were not uniting because if they did

oh man

it would be bad news bears.

Estoy sentado como un inválido

Estoy sentado como un inválido en el desierto de mi deseo de ti.

Me he acostumbrado a beber la noche lentamente, porque sé que la habitas, no importa dónde, poblándola de sueños.

El viento de la noche abate estrellas temblorosas en mis manos, que aún no se conforman, viudas inconsolables de tu pelo.

En mi corazón se agitan los pájaros que en él sembraste y a veces les daría la libertad que exigen para volver a ti, con el helado filo del cuchillo.

Pero no puede ser. Porque estás tan en mí, tan viva en mí, que si me muero a ti te moriría.

I Sit Here Like an Invalid

I sit here like an invalid in the desert of my desire for you

I’ve grown used to sipping the night slowly, knowing
you’re in it somewhere filling it with dreams.

The night wind whips the stars flickering in my hands,
broken-hearted widows of your hair, still unreconciled.

The birds you planted in my heart are stirring and
sometimes with a knife’s cold blade
I’d offer them the freedom they demand to go back to you.

And yet I can’t. You’re so much a part of me, so much alive in me
that if I died, my death would kill you.

- Juan Gelman

The "Good"

Wave only to things that cannot

return your goodbye.

Airplanes falling into the sky,

the unsuspecting would-be loves of your life,

bus stops,

the scowling eyes that clog the mirrors

as the gypsy cab howls off into the fog,

bundles of evergreen trees flipping the clouds

off like there is no tomorrow. Things like that.

If you do so, I can promise that you will never know

the hurt of staring into uncertainty.

And with that, adieu is bid.

Conversation with Exasperation

What happened to you?!

I was in an accident.

A collision you mean. There are no accidents.

Yes, one of those. Non-preventative though.

What exactly happened?

I was driving, and then out of nowhere the ghost

of a bunny

ran out into the middle of the road.

A ghost?!

Yes, of a bunny.

What did it look like?

Like the wind, the wind with little furry

bunny ears hopping across the wet street.

Ew. Didn't you try to use your training?

And more! I attempted to swerve, to maintain control,

but someone had left a broken t.v. set on the curb for pickup

the next morning and it was playing Michael Jackson's

thriller and god rest his twisted soul, I could not look away.

Then what?

Well naturally I pulled into the parking lot of the KFC

down the street to inspect the damage and phone my father.

What did he say?

He was relieved I wasn't hurt but still very upset

with the evening's turn of events.

Note the Cenote

Cenote, grab the sun.

Twist its flashing blade

into the gaping innards

of our mother. These tunnels

are mind-shafts, screaming

spear kisses on foreheads.

The drone that follows each

touch. Don't touch. Don't you

dare little brother. With your

hair little brother, unaware

little brother. You'll kill these

living things with one fingertip,

steal the secret of the dripstones

and all the restless festering

of each last Mayan vigil held

inside of the inframundo.

"Here is what woke me from such sleep,

Alone, I alone now..."

Did you not sleep all night?

Can't sleep and I'm about to lose my worried mind.

Supernatural.

I catch the decapitated blooms

of this expiring summer, but

they only frown at my misfortune

with so many deformed teeth

and laugh through my wishes

saying "you are ridiculous!"

It makes it difficult to see the way

in which I am so accustomed,

ruins the unnatural order of things.

We are not natural,

you and I. We never were. We are

supernatural,

above and beyond what is meant to be.

We are toes in running rivers,

talks of extraterrestrials

on the Chicago shoreline,

judges of the wizard packs

of youth who throw their

lives away, dedication across

continents, wet hair atop the

highest heights, uncomfortable

mattresses and cold, cold nights.

We are the earth bisected,

the moon filled, the traitorous

sun rising, firsts upon firsts,

more after more.

For the Cousin-Friend (the greatest friend of all)

We talk until the sky comes to life

again my cousin, my friend.

And though the lamppost hanging

through the shades outside the window

can trick me into believing the sun

has already vacated its ritual hiding,

you simply smile in the face

of our most certain deliquescence.

Damnation even--

an end that will come at the clawing

hands of public paranoia

and so many voided contingencies.

Let's sing a song cousin friend

can paint this hometown, this world a different

shade of dawn. A flavor not so sad perhaps?

Different from the yellow that douses

this city of lights--a creative moniker

worth acknowledging but filled with so much irony

it sometimes hurts--as we separate

ourselves from the building then dribble

down into the streets above or below.

The optimized market assurance

of that simpleton phrase pales

in comparison to what we have going on

in our imaginatively conjoined foreskulls

as we sift through downtown

with the coffee-livened creepers

and get a real sense of everything

we miss out on each time life

comes between us.

Then it's only the big man feeling

of the wet dawn haunt, the silent

victory of another conquered vantage,

the simultaneous shudder coming over us

when shopfront mannequins in cloying

dresses our absent ladies would depise

assure us that we can still fantasize.

We Think In Idiom, We Hear in Code

If I watch the sun creep

over an enemy's cropped head,

the inglorious glow

of the thing will never light

him afire as I so deeply wish.

I observe that same light

cresting over the humidity

of my love. All its energy--

bombardier rays breaching

through her and the rest

of the crowd at the same

live moment that sound

becomes melody.

I trace the notes upon

their skins but can never

read the secret messages,

each as untranslatable

to foreign minds

as the next.

on the shuttle

from terminal d

to b, temporarily

delayed with happy

civilians waiting

to whisk themselves

away to summers

in the northeast,

picnics in Millennium

Park, a face

of the 82nd airborne

stands close by.

We keep our

grips on the balancing

posts, but his hand

holds so much more

determination.

I want to be with you

in all that chaos.

Where newborns sound

the dreadful cry of each

new day and relatives

who actually relate

can appreciate our

musical taste and

the way my yearning

stare complements

your enduring smile.

I would prove myself

to you again, this time

with a calculating

sense of what's deserved.

They would see it too,

in the way we laid

and danced from

each of your memories

in that far-off land

together.

tengo que practicar.


la fantasia

mira la sal,
como forma galaxia
en tu barriga.
asi empieza la fantasia.

somos el espiritu
infinito de esos
cuerpos celestes
con sus pecadores

microscopicos. es
tiempo ya para el
juicio final. la decision
es inundacion

por limon que
cae por cielo,
desde la mano
que trae mundo nuevo.

mira la luna,
que dice ya no quiero
ver los dos demas-
iado separados.

el toma medidas
aliado con nuestra
estrella al lado
de su cabeza

para ubicarnos,
y seguir el cuento
de hadas nuestro,
gusto a fresa.