miércoles, 25 de diciembre de 2013


toy plastic empty subways in the crystal clear cold halfway-cooked-spring-morning

wolves without teeth
religious zealots
rock and roll in the stereo – downers in the oven  - girls at the door of the laundromat

the old guy leaning on the wall whispering:

“ulises never came home
he tried, sure,
but he stayed looking in circe’s eyes
for all eternity
coming home for what?

even now the old sea-lover-white-dove
is falling on her beautiful white linen knees
giving name to new songs and talking directly to your ears:
i wanna see you again babe
you handsome black haired guy

and the light
fresh god-like
of the velveteen sunset
hits the barrio’s red brick buildings
with an overwhelming feel full of oceanic hope

usually so far away
phone calls
snow and rice fields

so the day passes by in a hush
in a long head
concern about the implications of the lost boats and the burning zeppelins
and the crippled emotions of emptiness
in the skinny
mental sanity asylums
and the ruins of the prison

sorry my dear but i have to keep on going
for a little bit time more
till i get to detroit at least
or to the homemade bread
or the white fence or
salvation herself
and the peaceofmind
or quebec
or those idealistic hands that cover my face
and make me fall sleep like a huge
under the heavy heat
of the
hong kong hills