I liked scrambled eggs for breakfast but
the doctor banned them from my diet long ago.
Cholesterol, he said.
I loved looking at the street from a gap in the curtains but
the landlady installed Venetian blinds long ago.
Privacy, she said.
No evening would pass by without me smoking a pipe but
cigarettes became trendy long ago.
Fashion, they said.
I could tell when a client came from Victoria or Charing Cross but
they all drive cars since long ago.
Modernity, everyone says.
No wonder I feel like travelling to Switzerland and
jumping down a waterfall.
Moriarty, you will say.
lunes, 18 de mayo de 2009
miércoles, 13 de mayo de 2009
We were sitting by the pool. Our feet
in the water that felt cold at first.
A woman was shouting
dolphins asphyxiated by plastic bags,
or any other.
Suddenly, a breeze came smelling of barbecue
We turned our heads to it and
Silence beyond let us hear the cracking of
the burnt wood,
swell the sauce and lick
It was spring, and the sky looked
as the Pharaohs.
lunes, 11 de mayo de 2009
This used to be the hand to save mankind
This used to be the grip
The fingers that get crossed and the parlor
on which we give away
Being tiresome and lazy helped to give it up
So now, in the mornings, when the light as a lightbulb comes in
The hand is no longer the hand, but the spiderweb
And we breakfast in a myriad of water and sand.
It’s difficult not to get as stuffed as teddybears
But we don’t care to try any more
It’s nicer to burn in the microwave
It’s nicer to grab the heat from the windows
While everybody else, outside, in the jam, shakes hands
And figures out how to survive
For another day.
jueves, 2 de octubre de 2008
I don't dare to believe that I'm the only one
I don't dare to feel more piercingly than anybody else
the air on my arms.
Breathe is what I must do to sing, after all.
The surface of the rocks keep scratching,
Thinking the morning is just too good to be true when,
it is the night and the fog they clutch to
when they are thirsty
as empty jars.
viernes, 19 de septiembre de 2008
Only through the glass you cansee the airreverberating and that smallhairy dog that keepsjumping, leftand right, in front of thered light.Nobody sees you picking your nose but everyonegives it for certain thatyou do it. It's the path,the wind through the air conditioning pipes and thestillnessof the policeman.Any day but this, you will be staring at ablank screen. There'll be no way out otherthan in.Guess what: you think you know the code when,actually, you almost never got a glimpse of it.Only inside the traffic jam the universe seems torun slowly.
viernes, 25 de julio de 2008
Fortune cookies are crap,you already know that.And zen gardens only make your deskdirty.What you should do isplay lottery every day,but that doesn't mean you have tofill in the numbers.They are already known, only it's impossibleto guess them. Even for you,with your computerized machines.So the solution is simple: you will never be a millionaireunless you win.And winning is out of your control. How to control it?You tell me, it's what I've been trying to do for centuries, andlook at me:I have learnt to move my right paw as ifI were greeting people. That's all.
martes, 8 de julio de 2008
Everybody says --sooner or later--that man must not be alone.Or woman, for that matters.I keep laughing at the ceiling,disguising,appearing as someone other than what is expected. Or who.I could say --like Lady Macbeth--that I have a heart so white,but it's nothing like that.I'm starvingI'm craving for brainsthose are my witchesI'm starvingI'd rather be on myself hanging on the ropeof irony.Everybody says --sooner or later--that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bushOr three, for that matters.I keep setting them freewatchingtheir bossoms rise with air. Or water.I could say --like Oscar Wilde--that illusion is the first of all pleasures,but it's nothing like that.I'm starvingI'm craving for lungsthose are my demonsI'm starvingI'd rather be on myself scratching the wallsof debt.So I would shut up for goodSo the everybodies would set me freeSo the Lady Macbeth and the Oscar Wilde would take my placeand lift her (his) footand place it onthe first step.Always,forevermixed upby the unexplainedquantum properties of the space-time continuum.