a fine port whine

guessing games with the servers
[se iba a explotar]
carrying odd gifts like
Henry Mancini rounding corners

pass the bone saw
[lemon-lime] so darling,

[we have to adopt posture
before laminated devotions]

write down the time of


era el tiempo dematerializando su estado
soli-do/ liquido-so
limitado a ser
recuperado; esperando la refunción

hay un garabato
la válvula aortica

era el tiempo derritiéndose
motivo del transeúnte

era el tiempo delicuesto
era el tiempo incuescente
presupuesto resistente manifiesto

fenómeno insular de(dimensión

ol raits riserb

Poets claim that we recapture for a moment the self that we were long ago when we enter some house or garden in which we used to live in our youth. But these are most hazardous pilgrimages, which end as often in disappointment as in success. It is in ourselves that we should rather seek to find those fixed places, contemporaneous with different years.

Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time, The Guermantes Way (via frauleinzooey)

I’ve been reading “the poetics of space”. This resonates quite a bit there.

pilas detonantes

la estatuilla gold-fill que me regaló, pisa-papeles improvisado
alarde a un gandul extraviado
con bergotte en la pared amarilla

verdura poetica
la imagen perfecta

homónimo extraviado bajo el estrellato
no vio/quiso ver/las lunas
desgastó su poder;
lo pudo desenvolver

y ya los huesos casi salidos
por las anchas de su espalda

y yo lo vi todo desde aqui

loophole manufacturer

one tends to inhale
quite a number
of numbing chloromethanes

hours awake mistaken
when upright

static columns keeping us in place; the pale sky dawns
into vertical isms

revisionists all the while can’t remember
to apply the paint/
antimony grey skeletons
still drawn to the noose

tea time is free time is time for a harvest

hollow shoes horned atlas pickled herring jokes exist
as we are
servants of geography
and travel documentaries

how to structure a collapse
with only threads and bare knuckles

while aches turn to
scrambling in the dark for thin leaves/ striped bark

this cultured pain
beneath a pending grimace
under the left knee between throat and gizzard

(it sits still with infusions
it beckons sedation)

barriendo hojas mientras caen hojas

alguna vez te vi
con las heridas en tu camisa,
en el piso/
los zapatos casi en pedazos

te vi
con el brazo descubierto bajo la lluvia
y no se derretia

contemplé imaginarte
dormido en el horno

mientras te crecían los ojos
como a las papas ¡así!
como tentáculos
de la papa que alguien olvidó

consommé y porcentualidades

el aire es gratis, dicen
que hay batallas particulares
hoy cruzas
luces rojas
juglarizando lo predefinido, al acto insobornable

dejarse llevar, así
como pararse frente a una puerta
a esperar que abra

se gastan varios días en la
espera/desesperas dentro de
los límites establecidos

catch a typist by the toe

i get lost under arcs/the modern
arcane where i dream to listen
inklings of
birabuto kingdom
lopsided finches

so i know to go
and can absorb directions

like cells gather
their crops

this is a cutthroat tale

cornerstone defect in a lot of ways
now you see me,
then again

our influences vary
where we meet (in middles
between two pages bursting)

and i can’t disagree
there are spills
a whole ocean

percentual advocacy
won’t grow lungs anymore
not by the hundred

down the hatch

three miniatures
give and take simultaneously/
living close to thinking
they can find
territorial anomalies

a fraction of reality,

nature derives from small gestures
or you drown
if you lack feathers/a shadow

favorable analogs

what i would like in your presence
regarding orbits you have kept
lingering silent over the wicker man
while i greet airplanes from
the top of your head

i am petrified
when the sun comes back

some souls don’t restart
today and the last tragedy lives on

sweet distractions


you again
beyond the visible expanse
reminding of peculiar gods and
refurbishing their claims

the frequent tick leads on
like inevitable lumps on the road

and i’ll follow you for now
as i count bolts on the tracks