Reflejo y Olvido

quién se declara incómodo
en mi cuerpo, extranjero en mi país?
enmarcado a mano ajena
el deseo de transparencia

los años a media luz
pulen mi destreza invisible

cómo cuándo dónde
se desmarca el yo
de su pegatina de imágenes?

más allá
(además de los restos acumulados
que bordean toda ruta

aparte la baranda y la pintura)
una y otra vida se hacen
ecuatoriales en la noche

Fulcrum Season

dream & desire drain into shadow
before dawn
fires burn untended

walk into the crowd
in final courage & fragile
strength assumed

bring solitude to share
in appetite for paradox


One of a Piece

drained the circling


keeps a busier calm in solitude

repeating the need & fulfilled
in hearing this my so-called self
thinking out silence


Geek as the Gimp

I want to believe
the black bitter sorrow
that soaks my skin through
with spill'd cardiac stench
can be sweetened & sipped, still
like steaming temptation

--like wild habit fuel
that strips skips & slips
past all hesitation
to hunt for your jewel...

(O! Heart like a teacup--
all worn, chipp'd, yet dainty--
grown narrow with age...)

Sin Meta Presente

(In Memoriam Roberto Nin)

corazón del sur
corazón del monte

noche del sur
noche del corazón del monte

el corazón de la noche
late un respiro inesperado
mientras rodeo desvelado
el hogar del corredor suicida
que acompaña mi aliento rendido

desde el sur
sopla el sereno terminal
que no logra pisar
los talones del alba


Vocativa Perdida

fundar un hogar vocacional
en el momento fugaz
chorrea la virtud musical

pero el momento discurre
gracias al cauce del instrumento--
al marco formal de cultura
y ribera y motor

hogar, hoguera viva


las hojas de los árboles
se pudren para brindar nueva vida

las del calendario caen
y se deshacen para siempre

la vida idiota fluye
y discurre terca sombra
bajo toda intelijencia


Whittle-cage Sermon

floating above the corrupt
miasma of tropical summer in the city, suspended
over the darkened buildings they identify & crown

hieratic logos gleam in the predawn

abstracted into tongues of cool flame

flattened circles, elegantly designed pagan idols
shaved down to temptation icons for vague appetites

the magical soft light sculptures hover
like a dimensional gateway

(shut me up in a good way
stuff yourself down my throat one joint
one gland one fold one beat at a time

is there no love will not suffocate
its object-- or suffocate itself
in its object, at best?)


Nightmare Fire

All is wrong
In my Mother tongue

I am less homeful, still for hire:
long live bulls' nomadic fire!

My worst nightmare: shackles
out of joyful punning
as my refuge, I fear
yields to new master's cunning

(...in, out & roundabout the deeply
wallowing whale to swallow
your badge, crown & shackles, & so--)

I bid you goodnight, sweet Prince:
unfettered nightmares find you poor
and free!


Plans for One Self: Parting Counter Season, revised

Any visit lasting less than three days is a short stay at the heart of a long journey--

not every fall is autumn's leavings
not every flight escapes or reaches home
as it climbs expectations of landing

not every trip is a stumble

as a thick tumbler's journey to date
:to measure ends shorter than means
& awake to yet longer dreams--
breathes inspiration redundant
to all purpose absent in relative risk

three weeks tick three hours down, down
a short stay by any other name
costing the least of smelly passions pent
up in synonyms fueled bittersweet
as foreign to your mother's tongue
& frightened bare by her daughters, even


Parting Counter Season

not every fall is autumn's leavings
not every flight escapes as it climbs

not every trip is a stumble
as a long tumbler's journey to date
(--to measure ends shorter than means
& awake to yet longer dreams-- )
breathes inspiration redundant
to all purpose absent in absolute risk

three days or three weeks tick down
a short stay by any other name
costing the least of smelly passions pent
in synonyms fueled bittersweet...

as foreign to your mother's tongue
& frightened by the daughters, even



LET me dream before I look

let me kill before I hook
let me scream before I cook
(--got no home to call my nook--

may I save you with My Book?)

WELCOME to my lonely cauldron
tasty broth-bath nearing boil
sitting on your very fire
e'er on edge of sinking soil...

SAVE ME-- save me to the sere, & fallen
like the yellow leaf is calling
 --let me pull before we stroke...


'Call me Aimless', again?

'SAVE NOW' quoth blogspot...I *should* be trying to learn the ropes around Wordpress...'but I'm So Lazy', to quote Kevin Johansen...(tuesday April 20?)
Had some fairly vivid dreaming this morning I neglected to try to write down, pen to paper...Teresa was in it, maybe i was helping with the setup & strike, if not the whole production, of an art fair, in one of the big patio courtyards in el viejo San Juan-- maybe the Patio de los Dominicos where Instituto de Cultura & its little theatre used to be (?) maybe the bigger Ballajá barracks...
At the end of the evening, very late, Vitin Calderón says he's stuck for a ride, but he hasn't eaten all day & could I please help him find a place for a late night bite...I'm exhausted & want to go home...but hate to leave a buddy in the lurch...what'll I do??

mittwoch 21 aprilllllll...dos de la tarde...intense dream, Tia Piñiña viva, riding to La Guardia--with (uncle) Jose Luis? --from Madrid? ...where I'm leaving some embarrassing unfinished business behind for later? Cecchin in Madrid?? Try to remember...

(...bueno Earth Day jueves 22) --up a bit earlier? noon sharp, even as I didn't get to sleep til five thirty or so-- thought of running then, but...yknow...vivid dreams again, timely, dealing with wine or plane reservations, but faded quck...pick a date to fly back? Wed May 5-- cinco de mayo!? argh...viernes 7?? nuts...email Paco?


Fourplay To A Crowd

MIDNIGHT past the full moon oasis

all freely-willed freewheelin' downhill
from here, there & everywhere

gotta lose this fight with silent pride--
gulp all systems go! Find another tune full?
mister pill, mister pill, mister pill

gonads churning first, drain all
second hope

I lose, I find I question again
until a threshold marks the FOLLOW IN coherence
seeking sleep for new ritual
rebirth in waking (fluff)

Oh, dear. Oh dear ohdearoh dear oh


Flujo Roto

Dios es implacable como cada uno
de nosotros, su reflejo
hecho añicos: irregulares
miniaturas del orden
oscuro y voraz

quebrado desde Siempre
nos enfrenta el milagro
que destella fugaz eco de luces

Eternidad es refugio perfecto
para nuestra agonía
pero su cuna de disolución
no arrulla ni consuela la despedida


I Sing Arms & Demand

       (English variation on 'Ulises, Primer Arma')
silence falls far past
the southern lip of exile

cunning void of root & source
gives up no evidence, reflects
or bears no burden
but seedless planting in cultured ferment

--in troubled broken pounding
of the tidal rush
that hoards life-hardened sludge

to prop the selfsame exile up
beyond flight & futile yearning


home to fans
turning blasts of air
across the bright empty room

'call me ishmael'-- means old
dry meat gone stale in Cymmerian

bad joke. sorry

see, I'm hangin round
way past my expiration date

I've overstayed my welcome
from day one to be sure

was there a market-defined
shelf-life to my masculinity
-- my bachelorhood?
to my awkward poetics?

failure is letting Christian inflation
bill your dime-store Buddhism
ten bucks for a prayer flag


I Know The Distance

Love is no euphemism--
will not stand in for more
will not sit down to less

Love is no metaphor--
it will not bring home clarity
to show the way there

I know the distance
between my heart & my skin
I know the calendar
between my cry & my grin

I know the journey
(the gap & the fall)
between my head & my groin

Every nerve is a tightrope
I tremble & dance along
Every vein every artery
the net I fall upon


Ulises, Primer Arma

cae el silencio al extremo meridional del exilio

(la astucia no refleja un origen:

un cultivo sin semilla, un cuidado cultural

un embate accidentado
de corrientes que acumulan
sedimento de dura experiencia
que sostiene aquel exilio
que no es huída
ni ausencia)


Sin Ir, Recuperable

No recuerdo sueños
anteriores a la prisa
por encontrar el banquete

Si me incorporo transparente
he aprendido a conservar
mi silueta de lágrima

Perdido el límite y disuelto
el borde, mi encarnado aliento
se desolla y divaga descompuesto

Huésped ingrato del mercado
el canto rodado de mi pesadilla
cobija otra noche su yate varado


No es eterna si arde, ni viceversa

He aprendido hace tiempo ya
que no soy único ni singular--
entonces, ésta mi soledad
¿cómo difiere y de qué manera,
si alguna, sea la que sea--
de tanta soledad ajena?