WTF is ZSG?
Cuando cazábamos
avispas lanzábamos
los sacos al
avispal
Certeros de nuestra
fechoría una muestra
práctica de manía
a la que se escondía
Venus discutía mientras
Marte hacía de esas tras
florcitas y lomitas
de futuras mamacitas
Desamores desde
Letras derramadas
En el lecho
De futuros inciertos;
“No”
A lo largo de
los hechos
“No”
A juveniles
infortunios
“No”
Al placer
De hasta la muerte.
It must feel safe, locked in a shell
a protein mush, a calm pallor;
within a tin cigarette box,
Uncle’s (died of emphyzema),
must have been, and shrouded by a
sweet acrid scent that I recall
faintly from his broad-armed embrace.
I had to bring it to my nose
to sense what had been memory
of when we stayed in the old farm;
he lived alone, besides a few
hired hands, always temporary.
His sun-baked skin was always warm,
which made a lot of sense to me.
I played outside while the grown-ups
had tea: He could go on for hours,
a merry face isolated,
yet always keen on all of the
news he’d never heard, the moment
clung on his loud opinions, which
would be made fun of on the way
Back to the city. I’ve seen this
seed before, egg-shaped, dirty beige,
freckled with lighter shades; what would
happen if I were to plant it?
They never grew in my dorm room’s
Dirty carpet (my God, it’s been
so long, but I still hear chuckling);
Is this why we never returned?
It’s been so long since everything,
Rust, romaine lettuce, oxidation,
A dial of time, the exuberance of swords.
Set the pace and tidy up, lie, lie,
Beast and folklore, so long distraught
In peace, blooms in no particular direction.
Home along, home despair, end with no “fin”;
They don’t come witty anymore, just continuous;
Self-aware burden of choice rot into green.
The cavalcades once roamed, once thundered,
Once deposed by parking lots in traffic,
Lights, klaxons, lacking etiquette on the road.
Where to? Wherefore? Night constant
Sweat, beneath sheets, for moans and curling
Toes, wherefore? A conquest howl.
Giddy bids for machinations full-time
Shop clock elevation, identity exploration
A concerned masturbation with spiritual highs.
In books live ghosts and striders, quick
Check, light, gleam, drum, drum, dancing
Beat: It’s mostly the same, sans dignity.
Not a bone in my soul, rhythm stretch,
Not a soul in my bone, picture frame,
Laugh, no derision; deride, don’t goad.
Sonic subsonic, the world is a
Metronome, my will inert, my will
Back and forth and along and along.
Listen to your sprain, blue green
purple accusation that swelled from
the earth below, crick-crickety-croak
Accident with no reproach, only due,
Harden, hasten, harden, recover, hoard
Reproduce, fuck, folly, fuck, fuck.
Old fools bent
On swinging away at
Savage tears that
Hold on to dear
Tender truths: Walk
On to Babylon to
Find your Roxana.
Those days are over;
Excite your kin to
Never find, back in
Albion, that which her
Majesty never found
Perusing drums echoing
The twilight of empires:
Cross out crusaders
Hesitant in sighs
To forward the line
Among pastures, cranes
And devolved swine.
Waddling in a stream,
A slight cascade of
Twinkling wine, twas
Twice the beast pranced
To find, together more,
Nothing at all.
A saber of wind slashes
At stones peering above
A stream: “Will they turn?”
It asks turning North,
Holding fast to a galloping
Gaze, forcefully willed
To look forward and back
And ask, again and again,
Whether to steed-like
Grace from heavenly stead
The flippant rocks will
Finally heed. Greens
Shooting along shiver in
Fright; if it weren’t for
Their roots they’d be
Not only blown dry, but
Away, “Away!” like the
Stones seem to mutter
Wet and caressed by
Motherly words;
With sunly conceit, the
Mineral formations twinkle
And wink wakeful colors
At huffings undue
And untimely puffings.
Su lengua enfurecida
Titilaba en los tildeos
De sufragios en naufragios
De quien se salvaría
Y para quien
No habría espacio
Enrojeció su furia negra
Cual carbón o leña nueva
Y sus ojos,
Sus ojos
Ya no tenía
Ni sus orejas
No sería lenta
Ni sería rápida
La febril locura
De un acto —
En noche de
luna nueva.
Top-top
Early morning jog,
Boom boom
Deafening ipod beat.
Trickle down
New York water a
shower head
blocked with green-white lime.
Clip-clop
High-heeled clatter,
Clop-clop
City street walk.
What to do
When no one’s dancing?
Staying still
Is never a choice.
Rip-rip
A shoelace’s dragging,
Click-click
It echoes on wood.
The meeting
Went fantastic, but
It’s time to
Catch the subway home.
Woosh, stomp
With no shoes on,
Drag, drag
Rug shivers run through.
I’m a pro,
Presentation due
Tomorrow,
Take-out dinner time.
Toom toom
Delivery boy,
Tick-Tock
Where did my youth go?
Midnight fancy
Trainspotter in the dark,
alors, no tracks, no engines,
just a swelling sound nearing
and a calling; he’s a mess, he’s
untidy and the bobbing of his
glasses indicate he wants to
dance. Brushing by slicked-back
hair, the push on his eardrums
of the air cast the scientific spell
that dreams to dare: thoughts of
groovination feed what he exudes,
that belly mesmerizing flow and
quiver, the uneasy good-feel
expectant awesome awakened
in the bass of the situation, sparkled
with high hats smiling, oh,
the girls, the girls, moving well,
the female specie causes such a
daze as he sways his hips and their
hair guides as light stroboscopic flares
of glittering smells, and his arms
go up and down then side to side
(god, if it weren’t for her tobacco
suicide) and more vigor do more
rocking pelvis, yeah, feel good, he
dons the beats like a plaid pattern;
she slips past, her breasts accidentally
burn through flannel and sting like love,
harder dancing, he looks up, puckers up,
sexy, sexy, beast, oh my, he feels,
at least he got a laugh out of that one.
I answered a silent request of
My own Lou Salomé.
She asked about the air I devoured
And I thought it might have
Been the evergreens that acquiesced
To stand still amid gnats,
Giving up on warm blood and growing
Unencumbered by the itch
Null beyond, zero air and quiet bolts.
Along a ridge, climbing dusty bones,
Wearied stones, I reached the
Top to gaze spring water stream below,
Where I had bathed unquenched
With Patriarch of the peaks above;
A constant walk mattered
More than starlit eyes to grab and hold
The leather reins passed on
Ambling steeds from Matriarch bestowed.
Beyond birds and bougainvillea,
Adobe bricks lifting
Lore amid fawn crosses, quilted fields
Sown with melancholy
Spring eternal, a face insists on
Heavenward reflection;
Bosomed valley guardian, though they looked,
You never could wake from
Wond’ring if you’d erode and deform.
I.
The ticker tape
Static,
Not quite rain,
Nebulosa
Escondida
A cloud of moths
Dry winged dust
Pixie dust
Only static
Static
Static
Static
.
II.
A throng of silence
Thrusts through the air;
Breathing molasses,
Barely living at all,
The heart is a burden
Beating, breathing,
Beckoning reason,
Reason to be;
Reason to remain;
Reason to keep walking
Away, away
Keep walking on
Away
Away from the shadow
Away from a shadow,
Never ceases to follow.
i am
Still
So many
tears
to steal
Still, I know
I know
I know
You were
Lights out
for me
Lights out
Beyond
faraway
see
See, saw
I know
Who didn’t see?
I, whom
faraway
from a morning cloud
You thought
You’d saw
There’s always a heart out there, brimming warmth
beating one, two, one, two times below the deck. A
roller coaster shift twining drumbeats on the escalator
to the gym and the treadmill, running to stay in place
to stay fit to stare again at cemented cityscapes.
Grabbing plaques of sheet metal we find the measure,
divulging stares towards the folds surrounding belly-
buttons and questions regarding the propriety of stretch
mismatches of fabric and girth. It’ll do, though, fair
enough and trying to outdo the pressure of juggling
Continuously racing black rubber and never making
it out to the race, perhaps tomorrow, but remember
we’re in this together, right, out-sweating red twinkling
lights. We are retrograde outfits on settled-on souls
shaking some ass for tomorrow’s exercise session,
And it’s nice when it’s nice that it’s nice, adjunct to a
terse coat and all, fat shaking beautifully and all, but
does it float? Gaze between the gut, beyond at the darker
aches within - do they ache at all? Catch a gasp to float,
it’s necessary to dive in for more, into the recondite
Animal overcoming itself, the what to beat for. It hurt
like when escaping, bolting down shadows to safety
underground or in caves, but emerging with hurry and
gait when together we looked bigger than our stones,
flexing our muscle to hurl and overwhelm, our fair
Disheveled instincts of possession for not yet flowers
fulfilled by a burning meat, a pelt and whatever else
would become testosterone madness and submission,
without justification but blankness of stare at violations
of naturally weaker apes, that must must have been
How it went; bam, at the same place jogging away it’s
best to have a window nearby, open among the mirrors
covering the rest of the walls to cool down from mirages
lifting among the musk. In a month I’ll do at least 45
and just take a look at my bod when I can handle that.
Wonderful tonight, rest the flecks
of your hair, dear star, on the quiet
resolve of earthly admiration. Rest on
the contour of a soul’s vacation, a
sleepwalker’s shoulders while crossing
the desert on camel-back; on the pillow
I’ll find strands fallen, bluish white, still
pristine, on which to recoup mirages and
daydreams to find upon the realization
of the dawn. Unwritten, find me
uncoiled and expectant of doses of
breezes on which to shake and flutter
world-weary wings nesting over
tired bricks and dusty dormers.
Your vigilance is requited, through
peaceful murmurs and total confidence,
a tonal guarantee of beseeching and
reciprocity, in kind rekindling of flames
of languor in tomorrow’s den. Spells
beyond candor, heeding to soft touch
from the silk of a muse’s song, in repose
fortune recalls the abode built at the
peril of Phaëton’s flight: porous clouds
shall not pulverize the solfege of satyrs
and lire-bearers that teach the tempo
of starlit spirits. Scarred underpinnings
become soldiers of silence in the battle
of echoes for a lovelier tomorrow.
No has cambiado de cassette
Desde hace diez años:
Rebobinas la cinta
Cuatro mil quinientas sesenta y siete
Veces.
Hace mucho no escuchas más que
Distorsión y algunas notas
Más no lo notas.
La cinta todavía no ha perdido,
Se ha aferrado a su magnetismo,
Un mosaico de interferencia y
Baladas Americanas. Subes
El volumen y escuchas voces
De Rock & Roll.
Subes. Escalones carrasposos,
Andróginos zumbidos al hilo
De un despertar robado
En enemistad.
Surgen innertes conflictos,
Voces de Rock & Roll,
De entre el mar de interferencia:
Gargantas marcianas y
Flores marchitas al
Pie de un fusil.
How to securitize dreams?
Love is local, forcefully international,
Risk-ridden in melodies
Unforeseen in the markets; gasp
Aghast at the short-sellers of
Blooms and candy, looking to
Stake out positions in future
Options at the expense of bonds
Trodden over by interests so low
They barely seem real at the
Day’s end. Blow and the thrill
Of silk around the neck, skyscraper
Stands selling booty to the club
In elegant trades, swaps and
Charts. Moving averages for
Initial public offerings of affection,
Moving mountains isn’t enough
When you leverage your soul
In the name of a merger:
Here comes the flop, oooh
Lunch in London, then on
To sexy Stamford. Commodify
Me baby, yes you can New York,
But don’t expect to get a call back.
