I have to get away
from poetry
need to stop
focusing on the
details and the needlework
of perception
need to live the gross
average
collision course life
of the
rest
need to rediscover
minutes
as meaningless
traps
need to make routine
again an instinctive
straightjacket
need to somehow
buy a house
and stock it up
with liquor
need to begin
worrying
about that silly
little race
that goes by
the name
of
happiness.
Son todas
cosas
que debo
son deudas
exponenciales
que suman mi
error de existir
he sido fácil
una aberración
en mi comportamiento
soy presa
de una
moralidad
estando así
ebrio
ante la historia
y la misma sociedad
¿qué debo decir?
no te debo nada
soy
algo perdido entre una
irrelevancia y
una
mentira
ojala tuviera
algún significado esta
mi lucha
si mi apuro
es puramente:
empezar
pero quién quiere
un génesis
en este párrafo de
sabiduría
solamente
es un derrame
una contradicción
que se refuta
en su ambivalencia
así me desapego
de lo que sucedió
así soy una
mujer
que toca
su primer
amor
a piernas abiertas
soy
rosa y cuchillo
algo del
éctasis
que inventó
el pecado.
If I could do something
with this mess inside
do something similar to what snow
does to the argentine sky
constellating it with the falling
flakes of a weeping
chaos
I would be swarming
with zigzags of pleasure
and pain
collapsing under the weight
of
chance
then whatever remains
would melt
find the lowest cavity
of my dirty soul
and stagnate,
quietly
so quietly
dying
down
there.
A little something for a little world. The latest acrylic on canvas, titled: Black
Could be the last of 2010, we’ll see.
Le he robado
un minuto
una viscosa
soledad
del vino
he tomado
la libertad
de mentir
adentro del verso
de fingir pétalos
en la verga
seca
de mi tristeza
he liberado
tantos engaños
a escondidas
de mi
ebriedad
¿son versos?
meramente
lágrimas
y siglos
una indómita
lentitud
y sobre todo
crueldad.
I bite their existence
like a damned fruit
I sit at their bar
built for other drunks
that didn’t come
half around the world
to sit
simply there
it is their smells
their unkempt mustaches
the long borrowed smiles
the occasional spill
I tuck away in my thoughts
their paper-thick laughs
like wasted napkins
with doodles and debts
I pluck their noise
keep its seed
their game
is my
mirror.
I begin
to
approach
you
with a scarcity
of words
a simple
symbol:
snow
contains
the entire mode
of your
being.
hay noches
una tras otra
donde paso tomando
un trago o dos
no mucho,
lo suficiente
para mirar fijamente
a lo negro,
al translúcido oscuro
que el cielo estrena
noche tras noche;
son tragos de paciencia
son lapsos de humildad,
soy yo
solo y ebrio
escuchando esos misterios
que pasan rociando belleza
detrás de la inmensidad.
behind windows
I tend
to imagine
truth
to exist
much like the
beauty
that no one ever
visited
or the eternity
that time
misplaced
behind windows
not much
needs to happen
for
life to sway
like a dizzy
white speck
of
bliss
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