Category Archives: Poema

Frost descent 今天 · 霜降

今天 · 霜降

Frost scrapers noise invaded my realm as I tried to decipher what the early morning drew before my somnolent ears. Later That afternoon:
The air was icy fresh
The water cold as ice
The silentwind bore small Shiny white flakes borne out of the cold snap, nippy goosebumps
heightened the lush green which days before seemed but to rule the landscape
The 1st october snowflakes Are here afresh Like birds coming to nest
Slush reigns and chaos reaps havoc on the city’s railways
amok like the wind shuffles
the remaining leaves on the trees
resist to fall
yet a futile battle
to hang on rages
to dsitract
so as the caterpillar can sleep sound
on a bed of browm autumn leaves
until Spring arrives

a burnt fingerprint

They say the rings in a tree tell a story
I wonder what my wrinkles say
I look at my fingers
rings and dry cracks in my skin
appear through a certain light

I shy from speculation
since everything changes
what matters if I
interpret them
isn’t what I think
apt for interpretation?

yet I bleed
the day can turn
unto an ide
yet we march on

the sudden current
of my vessels

they are
receptors of hate

like unwanted sun rays

I have no protection
I breath
magnets repel
to form
my shield

a naked me
against the sun
yet another day

yet another wrinkle
to breakthrough


All day I spent feeling Friday the 13th
it was an ominous day
something bad is to happen
yet every day something bad happens
this time it felt specifically aimed at me
mass hysteria
→ though the winds rocked the yellowed leaves of the branch trees ←
→ doomed to decry the fall ←
→ whilst the gray clouds floated aloof ←
→ and the puddles from last nights rain ←
→ reflected the air passing by to whowhereswhere ←
→ the office continued with its normal routine ←
→ hate hovering about ←
→ pretending everything is ok ←
→ sniffing a wift of wellness ←
→ outta the fluorescent-lit office corner ←
→ writing this so-called poem ←
→ yeah, Friday the 13th is out to get me. ←


In my blood runs
Tijuas Caló
Whether in (E)spañol
Them beats
Pound the flesh
Like a Smith
A fuego
Con ritmos
turiquean y dicen
Desde el punto cero
We knew before thee
güiri güiri
Los filerazos
de la punta de la lengua
Lo que que traimos
Te calmamos
El party
Empieza sin ti

derrames de ramajes

hace viento

el follaje
mece a su merced

corre por ái
un dicho
sobre quién mece
a los arboles

yo quizá

pero no cuando llueve
las hojas frondosas de la primavera
acumulan agua
solo para hacer llover de nuevo

la gente se cree a salvo
de la pausa
y es cuando el árbol
nos la juega

y al destello del sol
aguarda a Ehecatl
lo que guardó
en caida
brilla un arcoiris
y a chingar a su madre
a correr de la sombra del árbol frondoso


the nihilist virus
to renew itself
it wants
a life and an imagination to last a lifetime
to reinvent itself
till it tires
a joy bug
who pukes
in delight

de esas de aquellas

Mis huesos
En el Valle
Hasta el cansancio
Y La Voz del Pueblo
Contra Kawuila
De a buche
Habría que pedirlos
Para poder saborear
Bien las 2am y wachar
El farol de luces
Recaer sobre las costras
De mugre
que soltaban olores
justos para wacarear
walk of shame
soltar cacharpas
a la Fuente de la suerte
y retornar a ese valle

秋霜 Qiūshuāng

In my bathroom mirror there are a couple of white hairs clinging to its surface. They bring my existence to a head as I am reminded of my autumn frost as the Chinese are wont to say. I find them peculiarly interesting in a way they make me pause my life to realize the fact that am getting old. Some things are halting. I stare at the hairs from the throne as I do my business. Two white hairs, not apart from each other, reflecting each other on the surface of the mirror. They are reminders of my hair plucking. As my family taught me to do. The very purpose is about vanity, not appearing old, yet here this too, whose very presence alter the habit or act, are there to show me the inevitable, I am getting older. The flakes of the autumn frost are coming.