Humidity clings to skin like oil
Trees blur, a line drawn across a blank page
A sea of charcoal grey birds, await the future
The day grows old, each flies off, to elude the heat…

IN THE beginning, God watched Woman create the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty…

The air of the atmosphere bends the light

Of the sun as it sinks to the ground…

Or, a summer once passed. A Forgotten Memory.
In the lush enclosure near
Algal star-specked water spreads…

I think that salt was

never meant to be consumed

by humans: we stole…

I remember when dida fed us syllables

for breakfast, steeped in syrup,

smooth. We feared silence…

It is monsoon when they part,

when the water lilies sprout like tiles…

My mother infuses her emotions,
Muddling feelings like mint,
Mixing moods like potions…

ALL: I come from

CI: sodden slums sculpted into the sides of the andes mountains...

my mother is the type of woman

who smiles like sunshine when speaking...

I look for what needs to be done. After all, that's how the universe designs itself.

-R. Buckminster Fuller...

My dida brings me blessings

in little white bottles...

My hyphen is a dagger

I hide in my hand—reminding you...

I keep words in my pockets—stuffed

together, scribbled on pieces...

So, I wonder. Who were we

when Death still lived in God’s womb?...

mama says the sun tastes better at night

of bed sheets for skin bound to boiled bodies...

I knew its rocks and stumps

And its inclines...

I am homesick for Venezuela,

a country that has never been mine...

Hold onto your skin, the cocoon for the skeleton, we leave behind...

I had to chase her, not just a block or two, but the whole length of the city...

Deep in the forest near the gurgling brook, two species different as night and day fall prey to pride, an ever-baited hook, and nature’s right to age-old grudge gives way...

I poke the sticky little fish eggs with my chopstick; then I try to unstick and roll them off when they get too clingy on my utensil...

You stumbled onto my life, hon, fumbling all my rules...

“The fear that all this will end. The fear that it won’t.” - Rae Armantrout...

Translation of ¿Qué les queda a los jóvenes? by Mario Benedetti...

On the way home, we drove in silence sinking into the shadows of movement, carved from the moonlight of unsung promises...

she popped strawberries onto her fingers, gobbled them off, pop pop pop pop pop...

the peach settled in my palm, grass nipped my ankles, pink socks pulled down...

Stepping up to the edge, I look down...

I see that I am no more than what you call me...

If you ask me if I am fluent in Chinese, I will tell you my Chinese is a ghost lodged in my throat...

Well, I guess it is ok. Alone for the night again...

the sky is as black as ever in the Underworld tonight...

Once night descends, the young star softly glows...

As steady strong do boulders heavy stand...

O, beauty never knew such tragedy...

If I compared your being to the snow, Twould be an easy leap for me to take...

poseidon is worried...

I cannot swear my love on season’s peace...

Maybe if I do all my homework...

She means for summer to remain unsung, the corrugated angles of soft blown dreams...

If you were palpable, then I could cup my hand around your cheek...

I figured that we could race the setting sun before the days got any shorter...

You peel off your jeans, sweat clings to them with its sticky hands...

What if all flowers were male...

In those late hours, when nothing good can ever happen, I’m lost looking for a way to escape...

don’t know why I can’t speak...

Time has gone, too swiftly to be noticed...

Peace is not the answer, it’s just a state of being...

I’ve got the sniffles. A toilet, clogged deep...

The freckles that dapple your face look more like stars burning low...

Excuse me miss, you haven’t met me before, but I’ve met you...

Some boys are born to kill each other...

I love her because she's strong...

There were Those who did not see...

I am stuck in a house that I call home...

Yesterday I went to school...

Before the wooden altar waits the mass of huddled subjects, meanest of our class...

You said you were going to go to Seoul to find yourself...

Oh boy, my first choice university!

Let us begin then, you and I, when morning is ripe and ready...

On Sunday morning, I awoke, at ease but foreign voices—relatives, no, please!

Oh, you, embroiderer of facts, perverter of truths...

In Southwerk at the Tabard I dined, relaxing and awaiting the morne...

I slice the paddle through the water and repeat the pattern without a path in mind...

I was the innocence scribbled in childhood...

immersed in layers of dark, we all suffer from dripping hearts...

Monday...

Take me down to the lake past noon...

You must know me. If you live in this world, you must know me...

A new land bathes in the dawn’s early rays, distant hills wear a shroud of gray...

Away with the wind, soaring through sky, that's where I want to hide, safe up high...

sometimes it takes soaked livers and three o’clock in the mornings compulsively teeth...

he sleeps smothered by dreams and illusions, blind to the natural world around her...

The lazy susan in the corner cabinet of my childhood kitchen was blonde wood...

« He is the wisest man. » my mother whispered to me as she dipped her fingers through my hair and pressed the lotus leaf wrap in my hands...

The sun sets low across the sky as whispers sound from tide to tide...

Strong in faith but lacking hope, a flower feeble in the snow...

Click clap- it hits the ground...