La huida del mundo real

y en el receso,
pienso en el beso
que nos damos:
como la guanábana,
fruta blanca entre corteza
de elefante:
los labios contienen
una lengua
tierna
que me ofreces
muy poco
y suave,
y recuerdo cómo los mastodontes
envuelven su comida
ávidos de hambre
mientras se acarician las orejas.

besos de elefante,
viento
y ansia.

Etiquetas: Poesía

invitados: América

On the first part of the journey
I was looking at all the life
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz
And the sky with no clouds
The heat was hot and the ground was dry
But the air was full of sound

Ive been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
cause there aint no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...

After two days in the desert sun
My skin began to turn red
After three days in the desert fun
I was looking at a river bed
And the story it told of a river that flowed
Made me sad to think it was dead

You see Ive been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
cause there aint no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...

After nine days I let the horse run free
cause the desert had turned to sea
There were plants and birds and rocks and things
There was sand and hills and rings
The ocean is a desert with its life underground
And a perfect disguise above
Under the cities lies a heart made of ground
But the humans will give no love

You see Ive been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert you can remember your name
cause there aint no one for to give you no pain
La, la ...

Etiquetas: Música para camaleones

En el sueño cortado
de mi infancia:
miradas cruzadas con olor ya muerto
dejan cigarros de paisajes
que asen palabras
ahora;
cósmica de padre,
ebria sintáctica.
revuelta.

¡Estos recuerdos míos!
batazos idénticos,
parecen huellas genéticas
de voces que se copian en manos lejanas,
en apellidos inciertos de acentos extranjeros;
borrones en verdades
que guardo
y avivo
en irrefrenable aliento.

(lejos)
- ¡Sierra de las Altas Torres!
¡Coño!

(cerca)
- ¿Qué es coño, Madre?

No eran flores,
ni algodones,
ni arbustos,
ni espesura,
fueron pasos de escaleras,
para perderme dormido,
para descubrir mis mundos
que soportaban descuidos.

Eran paisajes negados,
ya era miedo de la huida.

Etiquetas: Poesía

invitados: Simon and Garfunkel

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
she was once a true love of mine.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt.
On the side of a hill in the deep forest green.
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Tracing a sparrow on snow-crested ground.
Without no seams nor needlework.
Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain.
Then she'll be a true love of mine.
Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.

Tell her to find me an acre of land.
On the side of a hill, a sprinkling of leaves.
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Washes the ground with so many tears.
Between salt water and the sea strand.
A soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to reap it in a sickle of leather.
War bellows, blazing in scarlet battalions.
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Generals order their soldiers to kill.
And gather it all in a bunch of heather.
And to fight for a cause they've long ago forgotten.
Then she'll be a true love of mine.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there,
she was once a true love of mine.

Etiquetas: Música para camaleones

Desliza,
lúbrica y melosa,
su mano imaginada
por decenas de límites perdidos,
cartógrafas pinzas,
caricia precisa
en la preciosa presteza
de mi sed;
se crece,
se tuerce,
horádase como mordedura de áspid,
trucha que se escapa
de mi mano,
sonrisa de verano,
bravo pez moruno,
(¡astucia!)
que me quita el sueño.


Soné tu risa
cosquilleando (me).


Por eso
no dormí.

Etiquetas: Poesía

Photo Norman Seeff

invitada: Joni Mitchell

I came upon a child of god
He was walking along the road
And I asked him, where are you going
And this he told me
Im going on down to yasgurs farm
Im going to join in a rock n roll band
Im going to camp out on the land
Im going to try an get my soul free
We are stardust
We are golden
And weve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Then can I walk beside you
I have come here to lose the smog
And I feel to be a cog in something turning
Well maybe it is just the time of year
Or maybe its the time of man
I dont know who l am
But you know life is for learning
We are stardust
We are golden
And weve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

By the time we got to woodstock
We were half a million strong
And everywhere there was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw the bombers
Riding shotgun in the sky
And they were turning into butterflies
Above our nation
We are stardust
Billion year old carbon
We are golden
Caught in the devils bargain
And weve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden

Etiquetas: Música para camaleones