*****
The Worst Vacations in History
The happy don’t write.
How do they manage to endure life?
I have no idea
because I’m not one of them.
I think about it now
as an express depression
took hold of me
made little children of me
and left me stranded in bed
with my right thumb in my mouth.
However I could,
I dragged myself to the computer
opened Word
and wrote a few words.
Here are my pills
my placebos
my bottles of alcohol
my visible veins
ready to be cut.
The blank page is a burning and dangerous desert.
How do the happy endure life?
I’m still naked
because to dress yourself
takes courage
and a desire to improve the world,
and I have no desire for that.
Mine is modest.
I type little words
that are like larvae
life projects
that must serve a function:
to buy me a few seconds out of this state.
How do the happy endure life?
I will remember
for a long time
this early morning.
The dawn when Bowie died
and I wanted to wake all my relatives to tell them.
But they’re far away now
and they don’t like Bowie the way I do.
To me it’s vital to hear one of his songs
at least once a day.
Now he’s no longer here
and I am here
and that, from any point of view,
is an injustice.
All the young dudes
in the dark.
How do the happy endure life?
This poem slips away from me.
Beads of sweat fall
on the keyboard
near the bread crumbs.
What am I trying to say?
That heat is a terror
that my teenage dreams
turned into nightmares
that today someone beautiful has returned to his planet
that rock is alive
that I want to write something decent.
Seriously?
Is that it?
How do the happy endure life?
January in Buenos Aires
surrounded by a lot of cement
with no money or air conditioning.
These are the worst vacations in history
and the planet remains a lonely place.
Yet,
there is a beer in the refrigerator
telling me: stay. //
Describing
the beauty
is also
a job.
***
Anxiety
It’s the first time
that I mistake a dove
for an airplane.
I could only realize the mistake
mid-flight.
***
Seven Ordinary Episodes (Fragment)
2.
If you’re going to talk about monogamy
let me tell you about some earthquakes
If you’re going to name fate
let me speak of certain storms
If you’re going to utter the word “heart”
let me describe the face of hell
the churches and the jobs
never gave us the expected answers
not even our parents
that’s why we hold fast
and that’s why we keep quiet
after finishing
and testing our sweat
because there’s no way to conquer loneliness
and we know that sometimes
–many times– we need
someone else more than our own ego.
I saw you face to face, naked
and I wanted to die right there
now I’m awake
with the word beauty on the tip of my tongue
that same tongue
with which I kissed your breasts, your armpits,
your heels, your neck
all those places where I’d like to live
a phone rings
no one answers
we’re having a good time
the best part is when we go back to making love
and we know that porn didn’t teach us anything
that we let ourselves be carried by the skin
the panting
the knees
and the pressure of our fists
pleasure is like this
not letting the world into this bed
***
The Fishes Don’t Know Water
Poetry
should never
look like poetry.
That’s how cemeteries are born.//
***
Long Distance
The time I saw
how my stepfather
dragged my mother across the floor
and I knew
that there was a gun on his nightstand.
The time we were in a bar
with beer almost finished
and on the opposite sidewalk
a couple fought, shouting
and we all stayed silent
because we knew that behind all that noise
something worse was coming.
That Tuesday
when my mother got distracted
and I got distracted
and suddenly I didn’t see her anymore
not knowing where to go, I sat down to cry
asking myself
where the fuck do I live?
The nights when we feel something
and wake up as if the mattress were burning
and the two of us say at once
what was that?
we look at each other without finding an answer
but knowing that when the sun rose we would learn
of some death
and then think and say at dinner
“how groovy it would be to be far from all these
jerks who steal our sleep.”
***
My Mom Still Doesn’t Have a House
It isn’t that she lives on the street
it’s that she still isn’t the owner of any of those properties
that people fill with useless things
and call home.
My mom rents and curses every day of her life
because she feels she’s wasting money
that she’s throwing away
that she’s giving away.
My mom has been looking into whether the government will give her a house
or at least
a plot of land
but luck hasn’t been on her side.
My mom moves every two or three years.
Sometimes she finds beautiful houses for little money
other times she finds houses that are falling apart for little money
and sometimes she doesn’t get a house at all
and ends up at a friend’s place.
My mom dreams of her house.
I think it’s the only thing that keeps her alive.
When we see each other she tells me where it would be nice to live
how she would arrange the furniture
beautiful curtains covering enormous windows
cozy rooms
patios and flowers and tile roofs.
I once wrote a novel
to send to a contest
whose top prize was 50,000 pesos.
I thought that with that amount she could achieve her dream.
But the novel was very poorly written and I didn’t win any mention.
My mom keeps longing for her house.
And the only thing I could do for that is write a poem.
Poetry is useless.
***
es el enemigo.
cualquiera que te pida
calma en la desesperación
es el enemigo.
cualquiera que te exija
fidelidad en la traición
es el enemigo.
¿por qué la calma es un bien
tan preciado?
porque los enemigos viven
atentando contra ella.
caos, confusión y miedo
son sus mejores aliados.
nuestros enemigos de traje y corbata
y discursos y falsedades todas
están logrando que la guerra baje
al pueblo y nadie distinga
una caricia de un golpe.
basta de resistir, solo reaccionar.//
***
Toda una vida de privilegios
no le alcanza a los blanquitos
toda una vida de privilegios
no le alcanza a los chetos
toda una vida de privilegios
no le alcanza a los verdugos.
no voy a pedir permiso para existir.
no voy a pedir permiso para gritar.
no voy a pedir permiso para soñar.
es fácil triunfar cuando te regalan todo
desde antes de nacer.
nuestra única labor, la verdadera
es cambiar la historia
viene de lejos el golpe
que tenemos que dar de una vez.//
***
correr el colectivo
correr la coneja
correr el homebanking
todo es una desgracia.
miro la belleza de los árboles
que vencen el tiempo
suman capas y capas de dureza
en sus ramas.
esas ramas son perfectas
para colgar traidores.
no hay que culparse más.
el sistema está destruyendo
cada cosa hermosa que se manifiesta.
es el sistema, no lo olvides.
amarse y apuntar al enemigo correcto.//
***
Cualquier persona que viva de alquileres
es mi enemigo.
la falta de vivienda destruyó
a mi familia.
la falta de vivienda destruyó
a mi pareja.
la falta de vivienda me destruyó.
desde que tengo memoria
el mundo, el estado y la época
trabajan en mi extinción.//