when there is pain and surreal anxiety

Surreal Buddhist

I am heaping like an
of instances
dispersing as the floral
loop of sleep
tangibly draped with invisibility
the static beeping of my departure
witnessing the burst of egos
so uncontrollably distant from each other
in the topography of my identity
I am lost between the trees and the forest
I can’t see the wood
for the raw wildfire of my
all I am saying is that I have no control
in moments like these
being a Buddhist
would have been a good idea.

Modern Poetry Blog 


Drug of Time

eject the unconscious
under the wild smear
of the event

a coil
like a spin
on the axis
of regret

like the skies
change as the seasons
of our fears

while creating
the future
that entertains us
like a drug
in the mouth
of time


Modern Poetry Blog 

exit to enter

Gate to heart

All that I prophesy

is the way the world
spirals unto itself

space and dream
hibernate into consciousness

the product of my speech
is the withdrawal of meaning
in words
from reality to possibility

multiplying the interior
by tearing asunder
every perception
into further

I have noise
as fur over the idea
of myself

sideways to phenomena
towards the pinpoint
of         my



Modern Poetry Blog 

uno de mis viajes

Idea Dizzy



Una idea
de cuatro puertas
se estacionó en el paisaje
de mi futuro
entré en ella
me ajusté el cinturón de lógica
y empezó a conducir
en círculos
como cuando dibujo garabatos
en infinito en el aire,
la incauta idea
se detuvo al pie
de una paradoja
me obligó bajarme
y nauseabundo vomité
sobre los regazos del silencio;
cuando miré atrás
la idea viajaba por el otro lado de mi cordura,
no me quedó otra que pagar un taxi
para regresar
al asilo
de la

Blog de Poesía Moderna

never mind

Never Mind Mask

there are rare days
that begin
with orchestras crying my eyes
colors dripping memories
city strolls in mammoth steps
I carry pocket-sized chaos
on my shoulder, pretending to be a pirate
on the sea of modernity,
off we sail
into the wind
as plastic wrap
buoyant on meaninglessness

there are rare days
that begin
with suspension points
calmly insinuating that
life is passing by

there are rare days
that begin
with tiny airplanes tied to the tips
of my fingers
seems like I’m about to take off
but then I remember
the anchors tied to my toes
that sink me
never mind.


Modern Poetry Blog 

desde la calle vi el valle

valle de zozobra

Del valle amplio
extenso en cuna
de naturaleza
un paisaje de infinita zozobra
una apertura en el abierto
de la percepción
insondable distancia en instancia
de mis dedos a la punta
todo lo que no soy
de mundo a sueño
el abismo es mi luz
en la oscuridad del terreno
que es extensión
de todo lo que las palabras
no llegan a
comprender. . .



Poesía Siglo XXI