21 julio, 2013

Viejos recuerdos

enterrados en un cajón amarillento.

Viejos recuerdos

de caminos desandados

de espinas que una vez nos coronaron

y carcajadas mudas.

Viejos recuerdos

que volaron

como cuervos en invierno

recuerdos que al expirar

enterramos en el cajón

sin confesar sus pecados.

Viejos recuerdos

con los que un día tropezamos

en cualquier esquina de la ciudad

para encontrar

que los recuerdos no envejecen

y en cambio, tienen vida eterna.


26 marzo, 2013

This morning

as I look at my generation in agony

I chose freedom to wealth

a good poem to celebrity

and pure sheer to beauty.

I chose to stay an extra hour

tangled to my loved one in bed

to the morning workout

and instead of tucking in the children early

to give them structure

I chose to stay and hour late

to give them love.


1 marzo, 2013

Last Monday

while standing on Religious street

I saw the birth of a poem

and suddenly

realized that verses

like humans

have a live of their own.

They are borne,

they grow

develop full potentials

struggle along with many other humans

learn from our common experiences

and any day

the poem dies forgotten in a drawer

‘til a mysterious god

either collets their souls forever

or resurrect them

at the dawn of the third day.


20 febrero, 2013

I always told my girlfriends

believe half of my stories

or maybe less.

Now with the pass of time

I found myself being that citizen

half human

and half hero

through the stories

narrated by my children.


12 diciembre, 2012

Reading the news

I found that scientists discovered

that in married

love only last two years

and now

while I run into ten years to your side

I ask myself what is that

that I’ve been feeling

in these eight extra years.

What am I doing lying to your side

What is going on with this hallucinating breath

that I share with you

Why am I touching that body

Looking through your curves

Your too familiar wrinkles

and falling for those celestial blemishes.

What is happening

when I look into your closed eyes

and kiss your barely open lips

while saying silent love words

Scientists are all wrong

and God is real


I’m into a brand new sort of madness.


7 noviembre, 2012

It is delightful seeing the young people jogging

down the street car’s tracks

of Saint Charles street.

The beautiful bodies pouring sweat

now beaten by the sun

or later bounced around by the wind.

Different shapes

colors and sizes

but always the same firm strokes

pounding on the ground.

I look at them from the side way



and almost intoxicated

only fantasizing

that today they will beat

the Saint Charles street car again

on their endless run to eternity.


3 octubre, 2012


I will steal some of your minutes

and we


won’t forget the written lines

in millions of years to come.