Bukowski wrote
“I loved you
like a man loves
a woman he never
touches, only writes to,
keeps little photographs of.”

And I wish that was the case,
Because when the night
Gets darker and darker
And the streets
Get filled with shiny
Lights and long days,

I start to remember the
Smell of your hair,
The silk on your skin,
The dew on your eyelashes.

And the poems
You have written about me,
The bad ones,
And the good ones.

When the room starts
Smelling like rot and
Decay.

And I can’t keep my hands
Off of the kitchen knifes
And the lights flicker
Morse code.

I think to myself
what if I would have stayed
In the comfort of my home
And sunk in the problems
That I had and didn’t have.

What would have been
Of my life.

There’s a new black cat
Running around my
Apartment complex,
Where has it been?

My mind murmurs,
As the cat yawns
By the street light,
Distracted, as if it
Know I’m watching.

I turn on
My cigarette from
The filter,
A subtle sacrifice
Slipping through
My fingers,

The cat is no
Longer here.
It’s gone.
The night swallows
It silhouette
In silence.
Maybe it was never
Meant to stay.

I sit a while,
As everything slips,
The smoke,
The silence,
The cat,

Even memories
Have soft edges now,
Faces blur,
The color of eyes,
Smiles and
laughs.

Like breath on a mirror,
Vanishing before the
Night turns old.

Still, I wait a little
Longer just in case
It comes back.

God, I walked down
The whole neighborhood
Today in search of you,

I window shopped
Through people's houses,

Buying nothing
But hope and
Christmas spirit.

I finally reached
The place they say
Your soul resides.

Sat down and had
A conversation
With myself

It sounded more
Like an argument.
I felt out of place.

I don’t think you
Were present there,

Maybe more
In the sniff
Of my cold nose,

Or the reflection
Of holiday lights
On puddles in the street
Warm light bending
Across cold water.

The frost on my breath
Lingered longer
Than your presence did.

Maybe you’re not
In sanctuaries or sermons,
But in the faint glow
Of string lights
Through fire place windows,

Or in the sudden warmth
Of a stranger’s smile
The kind that disappears
As quickly as it came.

Still, the cold crept in,
Needling through my jacket
As I walked back home,
Hands empty.

What a scam.

When I used to think
About my dad,
Not much came up,
But I remember
Getting excited,
Every time my mom
Picked up the phone
And it was my him,
On the other line,
Asking when he
Can pick me up,
Scheming for
A good time

It felt almost like
A school trip,
On those yellow
Trucks without
Ac but a stereo
System that would
Shake the windows
Of the new houses
I get to see.

Always an adventure,
Always something new
To experience,
Always good.

It’s as if the bad
Was concealed
Behind the curtain
That just closed up
The actors of a
Very corny drama,

It was hard to come
To him in times of need,
Always working,
Always busy,
Always in love,
Always living a life,

But lately,
He has been helping
Me kick stones out
Of my path.

“Necesitas algo”

“Estás bien mi niño””

“Si tú eres mi hijo,
Esto es lo que va pasar”

If you are my son,
He says.

I fall down from exhaustion,
And accept his apology.

I lay in bed
Underneath the
Sheets in that
Spot where time
Seems to forward
Until grass starts
To grow through the
Mattress and vines
Cover the walls,
Civilizations
Fall through the
Cracks and the
Stars fade into
The dark,
Making this
Fleeting moment
A lot darker
And colder,
Hopefully i
Wake up tomorrow
To fresh air
And pretty flowers
With a nice scent
To adorn it,
Im glad i can still
Hope, God,
Im glad.

I sit today,
In a corner
New york
Diner
In the
Middle
Of houston,
My eyes
Jump hoops
Around
the place,
As i wait
For my
second
Cup of
Coffee
To cool
Down,
And
My heart
Defrosts.

I call my grandma
Mama Myriam,

She’s my dads mom,
So I didn’t spend

Much time with her
Growing up

That doesn’t matter
To her when I call,

She talks as if she
Loves unconditionally,

So difficult to understand,
But the time goes on.

And she tell stories,
Not the ones in books

But the ones that make
Her scars ache,

And I listen,
Attentive,  

Patient,
Quiet,

As the city outside
Rumbles the windows,

And my furniture
Decays where it stands,

She tells her stories,
With a cat on her lap,

You can almost hear
The purrs through

The phone,
And what stories she tells,

About love, and life,
And betrayal, and abuse,

What a life she has lived,
She thanks me for listening,

With an “I love you”
As I ready up to hang up,

No, Mamá,
Thank you.

For as long as I can remember
I’ve been looking for love,

With a heart full of stitches
And duct tape to hold it together,

Trust me, I’ve been looking everywhere,
Above the ***** dishes and below

Undone laundry, behind the litter box,
And besides the stack of books

That keeps growing every first
Paycheck of the month

Since the second one falls
Victim to responsibilities,

I’ve tried the mirror, I trace
The moles around my face,

And ******* own mouth
As I fog the reflection

And think on who I was
Before time was time,

While I walk back to my bed,
And the pillows that already

Need changing, I lay, like
I’ve laid before and prepare

To go to sleep below the sky
And above the ground.

As I drive besides
The bayou,
Under cold
Plagued trees,
Thoughts of swinging hammocks
In the midst of humid heat
Pushes through
every other thought,
Francisco swings on the
Second hammock
That sits a little deeper
Into the the skeleton
Of a concrete house
That begs to be built,
Abandoned but not,
He’s probably high
Off his mind,
Classes are passing by,
The moment was now,
And what a way to
Spend it.

tonight the moon
shares her glare with us,
Giving us permission to look,
Blushing light,
Dimmed among
The constellations
That surround the
High ceiling above our heads,
But bright enough to
Be able to see the
Smile on your face,
Sadly I sit alone today,
Like I’ve sat for the
Past seven to eight months,
I’ve learned to enjoy
Moments like this,
I say alone,
But I share the night,
With the moon
And the stars
And the trees
And open lit
Windows,
I finish my cigarette,
With a last smoke
That seems to triple
In size because
Of how cold it is,
And I run inside
To the warm
And my cats
That lay with me
On this beautiful night.

I wonder why
Your hair is
Always covered,
But not enough
For me not to see
A part where
The back
Of my fingers
Could gently
Caress as
It curls around
Them like
Mandevilla,
They can
Make themselves
At home,
And grow a
Garden covering
My arms
And protect me
Against the
Sunshine
That tans
And burns
My skin.

Have I lost you,
In the cardinal
winds?

Has it lifted you,
Far from where
We are?

I
Flamboyán whispers,
wrapped gently by the nightfall
the coquí sings true.

II
Clouds become soft quilts,
dreams live curled in the branches
under a sky full of stars.

III
The breeze calls my name,
it smells of earth and heartbeat
my soul finds its rest.

It’ll always be you,
The same way
It’ll always be me.

I only enjoy things
when they happen organically now
bars, new drinks,
a warm hug,
waking up
without the alarm.

Nostalgia and melancholy
what a heavy burden,
to carry a weighted heart.
But my arms are getting stronger,
learning to grip,
to lift,
to cradle it with grace.

I don’t know who to thank,
but I’m grateful.

The window blinds
Open for the
First time since
I’ve been living here,
A potted plant
Shadows the
Streets during
The night
And during
The day it
Hugs the walls
Tight.

A figure walks down
The rooms,
Gliding as if
She was ice skating
Across the carpeted
Floors.

I’m sitting across,
Smoking,
Watching
The shadows swim
Through the
Washed down
Windows,

Tones of a home
Can be seen,
I wonder what
Goes on inside.

I want you
To hold still
Like a statue
In a museum,

Everyone will
Stop to look
at your silhouette
While basking
In your shadow,

They’ll drop
Flowers and wine
At your feet
As offerings,

And your beauty
Will reach the rims
Of the ears
Of emperors
Across the oceans

And the seas
And the rivers,
All bodies of
Water separate
In your presence,

But here you are,
Anxiously walking
From side to side,
Searching for what
Shouldn’t be searched for,

My love,
Please sit still,
Let me adore
The ground
That you stand on,

With flower petals
From a dying rose
That I’ve been holding
For so long,

I’ll reach deep within
My chest, and with
Bloodied hands
I’ll place my heart
At your feet.

“It’s in the water”
They say,
“It’s in the cigarettes”
The yell,
“It’s in the food”
They proclaim.

Only if they knew,
That the earth
Sings a tune
That tells my feet
To move.
And that it’s
Truly in the everlasting
Silence that accompanies it.

On a day
Like today
The stars
Aligned in a
Strange way,
They still shine
Bright against
The unreachable
Ceiling and
The seas
Hug their
Reflection tight
Against her
Skin, it accentuates
Her curves
That dances
Off the coast
Of the Caribbean
Islands or maybe
It washes away
The shores of
A clear beach
In Greece,
As the world
Still rotates
Around the pale
Yellow sun,
I lay neck
Deep
In a puddle
Of water,
I feel the
Rotation
Of the earth,
Or maybe
It’s vertigo.

I woke up today,
And I’ve learned
That I love like the wind
Does, or like a slowly
Sparked camp fire
That stays lit long enough
For the night not to feel
So cold.

I would throw logs
To spark the fire,
Let it burn through
Ashes and smoke,
I’ll sing ballads
And watch the
Flames slow
Dance to the tune
The breeze whistles
Through the trees
And the tall grass

Let’s sit near,
Enjoy the warm,
Be with me,
Enjoy the shadows
Strolling through,
Hopping and jumping
Through hoops,
Let me lean over
Close to you.

Let my arms
Feather fall
Around your waist,
Put your hand
Closer to the flame,
Let the burn
Mark your skin,
And let it bubble
Into passion
As the stars
Observe and judge,
Asking if this is
Truly love
In the end.

Oh, Icarus
How was
The fall?

Was it joyful?
As the sun
Burns scars

Into your spine,
I still see a smile
On your face,

You *******.

It felt like my time was coming,
I’m not afraid of what’s to come,

I’ll keep writing odes to love,
And life in sorrow,

I’m fading inward, starting from my fingertips,
So the moon has invited herself

To stay a little longer,
She weeps rain as tomorrow

Arrives with a picnic basket,
Heavy with what once was,

The morning sun sits in a corner,
Just ready to shine once more,

And what a beautiful morning
I have bought with breaths and sighs,

60 degrees haven’t felt this good,
It surfs upon the wind,

Carrying a boombox that
Plays melancholy,

It reaches my ears to remind
Me of the pain,

But thank god for beautiful
Mornings, and the clicking of time.

And pocket change.

Sometimes life feels  
like a train station,  
some depart wearing  
suits and ties,  
with heavy leather  
bags dangling  
from their hips  
as if to show the  
world how strong  
their legs are.

Others arrive
with their heart  
bleeding from  
their sleeves,  
with PTSD  
and memories of  
ruins of war  
that change their  
perspective as  
they drag their feet  
on shiny marble  
tiles that got  
polished the  
night before,  
so they glide  
through their way  
home.

I’ve departed before,
I’ve felt the  
cocoon inside  
my stomach  
hatch into butterflies,  
as the tip  
of my fingers felt  
the inside  
of a train that no  
longer will  
arrive to this station.

Since I’ve
been back,  
the sky  
hasn’t been  
the same shade  
of blue,  
or the stars haven’t  
flickered the  
same Morse code,  
but “I’ve won”  
I say to myself,  
not by chasing the train,
but by letting it pass,
by finding calm
in the station,
and in the realization
that my journey
is where I stand amongst  
the multitude of people,  
a sea of  
distinguishable universes,  
each with their destination,  
succumbed by life and its mysteries.

I’m glad,
for them, for all of us.

Lately I've felt
A new type
Of hunger,
The type that
Makes you wish
For something
Better.

I yell at the sky,
Full of desperation
And anger that boils
My blood and blisters
My skin,

In hopes of God
Chiming in and
Sitting down from
All his godly duties
To listen.

But the sky is empty,
Vacant of any life.
A strangely formed
Cloud walks by,

my bones weep
All left unsaid.

A spider weaves
A home on
The beige brick
Wall that divides
The parking lot
From the street,
I walked through
It by accident,
I feel it on my arms
Down to my legs,
An intricate webbing
Made to trap its prey,
I take it off of me
In panic, as the cicadas
Dance their tune away
In the withering heat
Of June.

I’m laying
Down on
A mount
Of Asian
Jasmines,
Then suddenly,
I was floating
in space,
But somehow,
In some way,
My lungs inflated,
And I exhaled
What I had
Left of life
Into the stars,
The cosmos
Held me
In their arms,
An embrace
Very needed
Yesterday’s ago,
I sink deep
Into the feeling
Of being loved,
And I cry
My soul
Out back
Into the living,
My bones
Root into
Empty space,
A never ending
Search for soil,
So lost,
In search,
Always in search,
this just
Doesn’t seem
Like a place
To rest.

The sky rumbles.
The smell of rain
comes through
as it drops ten degrees.
A wall of droplets
covers the open
greenhouse,
just after the caladiums
and the English ivy,
posted nicely
on symmetrical tables.

The wind dances
with the tall trees.
I can barely hear myself think
or talk
God is angry today.
Lightning strikes.

Arturo,
this 5’6” Hispanic old man,
acts as if he’s scared.
“Ay ay ay,” he says,
as he looks at me laughing.
We all sit,
waiting
for the sudden rage
to stop.

The roof
becomes a drumline,
each beat heavier
than the last.

Arturo crosses himself.
A silence blooms
between thunderclaps,
and in it,
I catch myself wondering
about the things
we don’t speak of,
how laughter
can be a kind of prayer.

I wish for coffee,
as if warmth
might steady the world.

The rain doesn’t ask
for permission to soften.
It just does.

As I dwell in the
Depths of a high,
Valleys of passion
And the wishes
Of being someone
take over,
The ceiling of
My bedroom
Open up
As if it was
A baseball stadium
On a sunny day,
Just so I can have
A smoke in the comfort
Of my own bed,
I lay in the ashes
Cursed with
the past,
The present,
the future.

She has a swing
To her hips,
But she stands
Proud with
Her shoulders
High, full of
Pride and knots
That I didn’t put
The time to
Take away,

A risk taker,
She jumps
Out of airplanes
And helicopters
Now, she loved
The kind of love
That stays with
You, because
You have never
Been loved like
This before,

And she stayed,
The morning
After.

Oh my love,
I’ve buried
My worries
In the sand
Of your shores,
Even if the
Raging waters
Dig deep
To find them
And give them
The same
Warmth
That I miss
When laying
Cuddled up
In the coconut palms
Of your hands,
I could feel
The fire,

Oh, beautiful deity
Of a seasons past
Where all year
Was spring,
I’ve grown so
Scared of love,
So malnourished,
You could almost
See the mountain
Range on my chest,
And I’ve only grown
Hungry for the look
In your eyes and
The sound of your
Voice when speaking
My name.

There’s a cat
and a heron
Sitting
by a creek,
They know of
Each other
But not close
Enough to
Actually know
Each other,
The cat observes
The heron
With eyes
Of a killer,
He then walks
Away as the tall
Grass is
being swayed
By the wind,
Maybe home,
The people on
The street also
Walk home as
The lonely night
Comes over,
And all the wisps
Of light come out
From hiding,
I share a feeling
With the night,
As I sit and observe
In a new skin
I’ve started to
Get used to,
I should
Go home too.

I’ve been
caught
in the rain,
near a field
of Indian
blankets
that runs by
a river caused
by the
precipitation,
the moon
drowns
underneath
the currents,
I can hear
her bubbled
screams as
the water
sweeps
the ground
with
an anger
of a
thousand
and the
attitude of
a tired mother
that just
got back
home to
see the
dishes
haven’t
been done,
and the
chicken
hasn’t
been
brought
down
from
the freezer,
so Tired
of the
baggy
eyes,
I’m
thinking
I should
jump,
and
help out
for once.

I want to take you to a flower field,
Lay down, watch the stars as they shine,
And whisper things about how jealous
They are of your beauty.

Even if we are two different skies under the same atmosphere,
We will unite and make them talk
More and more about us
The moon and the sun,
The never-ending fear
Mongering and unecesary
Stress that will come to us, forgotten.

And the only thing we will hear
Is the whisper of the stars.

Keep calm and wait.
Wait for our futures to intervene
And make one present.

Keep calm and wait
For my hands to run down your back,
Through nooks and crannies.

Feel your breaths,
The breeze,
The side eyes of the celestials,
I want gravity to no longer exist.
I want existence
To be a mere presence
In our everlasting ceremony.

I want God to remember us by name,
Just like Adam and Eve
Sinners from birth.
But right now,
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters
But the look in your eyes.

The sweat that
falls on my chest,
The lip bites,
All those little things
Im able to notice
Under the supervision
Of the night.

The way your lips
Impatiently wait for mine.
The moon shine glaring on your face,
Caressing your hair.
Every little light it sheds
Paints me a picture of how beautiful you are.

Oh, how beautiful you are...

Adrift in salt waves,
Closer to sea than to roots
Mountains keep still.

I cleared all the rubble,
turned it to mulch,
a soft bed for blooming
above my chest,
behind my ribs.
A garden grows
where grief once rooted,
touched by morning sun
and the warmth
of summer’s start.

Something gentle
is growing in me.

Y lo sé,
mi amor,
que aún
no te vas.
Pero si llega
mi vieja
mala suerte,
si el destino
me mira
de reojo,
por favor,
no me digas
adiós.

Si no, lléname
la nevera
de besos
y abrazos
que no se
enfrían,
por si me muero
de hambre
y no de pena,
por si me faltan
tus labios
en las madrugadas.

Esconde piezas
de ti debajo
de las almohadas,
entre sábanas
y bolsillos,
para hallarte
en los días
donde el sol
olvide mi nombre.

Lo sé,
mi amor,
no es tiempo
de marcharse.
Pero si el reloj
tropieza
con mi sombra,
si el adiós
se asoma
sin permiso,
por favor,
no me lo digas.
Solo quédate
un poco
en cada rincón
donde te soñé.

Something is wrong in heaven,
Maybe dinner hasn’t been
Too puntual lately,
Or rays of sunshine
Have found themselves
Hiding behind the
Dark of rain clouds,
And angels hum off key,
Missing the harmony
Of one less voice
At the table,
A chair left empty,
A prayer gone quiet,
Maybe heaven mourns, too,
In its own small, quiet way.

They won’t recall the words I chose,
The soul forgets the spoken word,
they’ll fade like footprints in the snow,
dissolving under summer’s heat.

But deeper into forgotten sands,
Where spirits drink from unseen wells,
The weightless grace that stood between
Flourish into palm, citrus and olive trees,

So let me be a whispered prayer
That lingers long after I’m gone,
A touch of God underneath the skin,
A warmth that carries someone on,

Not what I have or what I gave,
Not what I’ve said, but how I’ve knelt,
Not who I was in flesh and bone,
But what their spirit felt.