martes, 25 de octubre de 2016

Rio Grande

I guess you were right all along
As much as you said it
You were in love with me
But you couldn't stand my singing

The neons of the theater
Down at Hollywood and Vine
Were trembling on and on,
Day and night,
when I passed by
Every letter fired up but one
One that would never work

I used to open the windows and shout
Every morning
To this rusty bright
Burned up
Vulture nest like
And it was all because of you
Running like amphetamines in my fueled up veins
With your smell of sweat and white wine

You used to work as a dancer at the Big Macao
five days a week
but mostly nights
And dressed up like a Honk Kong gal to do your little number…
Man, you did really look beautiful in that 5 pennies red silk and gold dress
And you applied some make up so your eyes looked more... oriental
(the pipe that you hid under the bed was also a part of the process)

Every time we parted
I stared at your neck and the curls of your hair as you walked away
until you dissapeared

I guess you were right
All along
But I still sing every weekend, Friday and Thursday
For 50$ a night plus tips
And drinks

Kind of a nice pay nowadays you know
I even got myself a street cat to pet every once in a while
Her name, quite sure you guessed already,
Starts by that very same neon letter
That never worked on the marquee
That very same letter…. You know…

Who would have thought after all these years
The singing is almost all I have
And everybody seem to like it
From time to time they even write about me in the papers
While your love 
your overcasted smokey love 
That was always around
Vanished like a dried up dandelion under La Cienaga’s sun

I don't know why but she reminds me of you
She cuddles when she feels like it
She jumps out of the window
The moment I’m drunk

She always comes back
the cast I mean
(up to this day at least)
and you know I am the faithful kind
who always keeps the window open just in case

I guess you were right
All along
But you know, I own a little flat up on the hills
From my window I can see the lights blink every morning when I come back home
Those lights we used to dream on
I am still here
Hanging on

and you…

you left LA a long

martes, 18 de octubre de 2016



It’s deep in the night
Back in the wide shadows of the mutilated park

The inner city landslide

The blade of the common ground

There is me
No lights on
And there’s you
Flashing like an 80’s spaceship in downtown LA

All your blades falling in between
the stones
like cement for the temple
The glory of the messiah shining inside
glowing in every inch of your soft feathers
your chest like dopamine
your expensive perfume
around me
creating evangelical sentences
hard as a revenge
unfair like the law
With peaks of fire and somber valleys
As I erase the paths and the still waters so dark
that swallow my face

And my sanity

And the hope for a new skin that might get born in the upcoming springtime

Costumes, masks, fire eaters are
from the south

the road is burning in flames with fingers long and lean

the sword swallower
the dog faced man
looking like a Greek goddess,
connected to my spine
the fleas and the juggler
the midget
the keys to power
a horse
a giant
the unfinished love
papa’s boy
rich kid fed on silver and pearls
the skyscraper builder
and the priest
with the ever-growing beard
and the knife ready to skin off

Light without love
Heat without hope
Us surrounded by a deep black circle
Beside the pond
tears in your eyes
Your hands in my head
offering me freedom
stoned and defeated
fading out
Cutting my throat on the edge of the water

the white smoke can be seen through the branches
as her lips
start muttering
 and pretend nothing like this

(the two headed kid)

ever happened


It was in a dusty summer night
in the summer of self
a girl was getting undress on the other side of the street

the clouds above our heads
the absent wind
the invisible blue haze
the white walls
the light-invisible rain

you are out on the beach
walking on an island with your bare feet
that I once hear tip-toeing over wooden floors
elysian stones
and mattresses

and the aching guts of the whole world
living in you
breathing small yellow flowers on your skin
wishing you could
get up and recover those mystified days
in which you used to get up and thought you were in a dream
and everything was fine
and you had love
and life itself had the power to light you up
through a voice
a heat
a wait

but now
right now
you are the battle
you are submerged in the depths
like an old indian prayer surrounded by smoke
and meadows, and oaks burning, and the frozen dew on your tongue
like an elevator mechanic looking upwards
in the mudd
making all that noise

I’m not the one you think I am
Not a tool to your plots
Not a catholic saint in the altars of fake
Not your stallion
Not a washing machine
Not a father to your children
Not a priest
Not a mouse to trap
Not a clerk man
Not a bureaucrat
Coming home 21:30
Feeling glad with myself
Kissing you in the forehead

Peace of mind


feet are above the ground

walking up and down the corridor
eyes closed
seeing the dark disappear
as I pass by

watching all the walls turning into the finest transparent silk and cotton
as you walk by
and all those images of coal
head disconnected from the body
a trembling sweet sex to lay your breath in
empty forests
coming out of them just like water drops from a mill