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one last one

one is sleeping somewhere else
another one is walking,
and one is at home inside my mind

inside in as many nights as it was possible
without the benefit of a doubtless falling
squarely within the framework of a trance
there was a particular moment, a point worth
making in between your days off, your sheets
your way of letting me know this is something
of a beautiful mistake, an unforeseen overexposure
the type of mistake you hold onto just because

one is sleeping in my mind
another one is home
and one is walking somewhere else

three time's the charm, though no one
seems to be counting, some one is keeping
track of all the missed opportunities
afforded by chance and circumstance
only to realize there's no such luck
once you let it sink to the bottom

one is home sleeping
another one walks out of my mind
and one is left somewhere else



it's 9 o'clock and the room is filled
w/ stiff air, typical of a roomful of strangers
for the most part
eyes are tossed this way and that
in every direction, never lingering anywhere long enough
to disarm that peripheral edginess on our faces

better this way, this is an important meeting
these people are here seeking relevance, reason
a stage. we will share our fears soon enough
quell that insidious thirst for community, however
fleeting -- we're actors, we aim to live truthfully
in the imaginary landscape of our choosing

(this has all happened before, as it will most likely
happen again -- minds meeting, intellects toying
w/ each other, bodies touching, barely...)

and then
     yeah, you and your freckles
     enough of them to raise the bar and lift a wall
     into which i slam w/ all the speed of a lifetime
     spent in the vacuum of their absence

     as if you were made of a myriad dotted "I"'s
     but forgot the stems back home when you left
     or is it shafts? or trunks? or whatever
     it is obvious the dots are what's important
     irreplaceable, because each one is as unique
     as a snowflake, as if it were always glorious
     winter all over you and you're covered in

     so many of them yet not quite enough
     like all those points of interest on the map
     of your life -- one for each time your heart
     skipped a beat, or fluttered over someone

     in pairs, in threes, and quadrupled
     like a hundred thousand protesters against
     emptiness viewed from far above, forming
     small groups and crowding like rioters celebrating
     your skin, their world, my road, my
     neverending road into what is you

     one for every time i failed to see you, for
      all these days i never knew of you, of this
      wondrous universe of freckles in every shape,
      form & color... well okay, maybe not color,
      but you know what i mean

     in every nook and cranny of you, just as
     there were - at least one - on every friend
     that's OD'd, every lover that's squeezed a little
     too tight, everyone that has pushed, pulled, and
     whacked me in the direction i'm going

     because there are so many that we could
     build pyramids w/ them, monuments to our
     longing that will draw all like minded freckles
     into our fold to admire and ooooh, aaaaah
     for milenia to come, all the freckles like water-
     melon seeds we can use to build our own
     world in watermelon freckles like my life
     is now done in watermelon freckles of you

And we're only talking of the ones you can see
when you're fully dressed - imagine the possibilities
of those netherfreckles that sustain your mysteries
my yearning, our overlapping freckled futures

Pecas - spanish for freckles
as well as "you sin" in the present tense
pecas de corazón, pecas de medianoche, pecas de mujer
you sweet, sweet sin tracing a cartography of impossible
ways out of me and into you

it is one minute past 9 and your freckles have
rendered this oh so serious meeting pointless
useless, irrelevant in the grand scheme of things

your freckles are here
everything else is just parking

because there is nothing i wouldn't do
for just one of your freckles, now
i finally understand how a woman's body
w/out freckles is like the nightsky w/out stars


de rotas

lo mejor, de entrada, es ver todo lo malo
aunque también
por aquello de que en guerra avisada, 
cualquier trinchera
basta en el campo de batalla o del amor
let me tell you about my broken days, 
let me tell you about my breaking daze
perchance an idea, una noche, una nube
asuma, tal vez, 
su forma concreta once and for all
at last, avoiding
the usual half-assed, half-baked fate, 
the nowhere-fast-enough paja mental
best case scenario
los días tripping over each other
la implacable monotonía
la vida siempre en otra parte, 

the grass is always greener
mientras la desidia se hace rutina,
el destino como desatino habitual
barren days 
very much like los años barridos 
debajo de la alfombra
yea, broken, 
broke ass
you know what they do in japan 
with broken china?
they use gold, 
yeah, i know you know, 
i know you, i'd bet
because it sure seems like you know me, 
me conoces de verdad.

la amenaza de los buenos tiempos, 
la incredulidad rampante
mares no, océanos of doubt, heavy, oppressive doubting, constante
sonante, la misma cantaleta freudiana, nacional, emocional -
pues sí, porque ni carro tengo, 
the walk is all i got
roto, broken, o sino como cualquier roto, 
las famosas trincheras
desta guerra sin cuartel, sin descanso, singular y plural at the same time
yeah, talk about broken

hablando de rotos

la palabra que está ausente de manera inexplicable le sirve de título


welcome to  my life

the event is your reality
truly broken



the art of hugging

And then someone sends an awkward text,
the device rattles and vibrates. These are perilous times
astrologically speaking, a mercurial retrograde is enough
to provoke a reluctant response
quietly past midnight. This i know,
because i was there in spirit to disappoint them all once again.
It's really okay, she said, there will be some left over
for tomorrow. It was my turn to walk away
and show off what a driven walker I've become.

There is more than enough time
for the guesswork needed to unravel the night.
As the snow drifts in and out of focus another one
asks how long we've been waiting. Public transportation
is the perfect metaphor for inspiration. There's never
the right color ink to comment
on the margins, to underline the needs
and wants of everyone involved. Might
as well dog-ear the pages we'll return
to later. Believe me, I've done this before. We are
all heading in the same direction.

We then discuss earnestly the geography
between us when we realize we've missed
a lot more than deadlines. He is welcoming
and gone, but manages to explain it all
really clearly. Make no mistake
about it, the map is inaccurate.
The photograph is lost, tucked away
between a stranger's pages. Forget the rage
contained between buildings, the colors
are off anyways, the memory overexposed.
Feeling your breath on my neck, after all,
will seem like the most natural thing in the world.



La entrada de Inopia es también su salida, pero no quiere decir que solo haya una. Como toda ciudad murada madura, tiene más de una, medio puñado para ser exactos. Son todas las que necesita Inopia, ciudad de dudas, criadero de sueños errantes, depósito de tal veces. Lo que pudo haber sido va a morir a la in(al)can(z)sable Inopia, donde se cruzan los senderos incompletos. Cuentan que si retomas uno de los senderos incompletos, terminas fuera de la ciudad y encuentras sólo la salida. Con la entrada perdida, no se puede más que seguir. Eso no quiere decir que las probabilidades de caminos y complicidades consecuentes obsesionen al viajero. Aún los que nunca han estado en Inopia expresan cierta nostalgia por la sombra de sus caletas y callejones sin salida. No es difícil pasar muy cerca de la ciudad sin dar con ella. Se puede estar tan cerca como para escuchar su bullicio y soñarla perfectamente, pero sin pisar su suelo. Más allá del saludo, el viajero llega Asabiendas sin nunca haberse adentrado de verdad en Inopia.