Friday, May 29, 2009


If I change as they are changing

if they change as i change

(if they change, we all change)

Is everything changing, as I bend

down to touch the wind?

(are they changing, or remaining the same?)

as I walk across the dunes each morning.

Thursday, May 21, 2009


Old beatnik poet have you gone too far?
travelling to the mystic stars
with the flight of your soul
in the backseat of your vintage car

or burning on the docks at Veracruz
with the sacks of coco
smelling like the celestial burn
trying to win but always lose

mad with your solitude and foe
in collision with the lonely planet
stalled in the broken elevator
that would never go

dreaming of the bat with no head
sometimes your open
other times your closed
still sipping wine without the bread

Thursday, May 14, 2009


three artists boarding a train
the clatter of the tracks
passing Rockefeller Centre
where the mural once was
Frida and Diego
using a glaze of sweat for a primer
and arranging broken glass
for their mosaic
Jackson Pollock standing beside his bottle
stick in hand
the scorching red paint
to carve an image on the floor
over the fence
down the post
on his granular sandwich
the willful ambasador of paint
showing Kahlo and Rivera
his sublime art
all the way to Birdland
to hear Charlie Parker
play for Lenin
empty his bottle
and finish his painting

Using words from read write poem ..... mosaic, willful, sublime, fence, granular, post, scorching, carve, glaze, finish

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Si Tu Me Miras (watching the sunset)

Setting unevenly beyond my silhouette

the evening of a thousand eyes

searching for the fire

moving like the spooky red horizon

caribbean on fire

burning everything

including my poetry

sitting in the middle

Che on one side Fidel to the left

Kerouac passed out in the sand

discovering the poet I use to be

hating old poetmen

cheering the triumph of the revolution

as the Cuban tide

comes up to our knees

vanishing into nowhere

listening to our intellect

discussing the narcotic haze of capitalism

the heavy weight of the embargo

how the neverdo Buddha

gets addicted to the white lines

and intellectual silliness

how the sea engines from Russia


where nobody refuses solemnity of slogans

mapped out in their furrowed tongues

and time burries you forever

above the sand

in your soul

where shadows gather beyond the curtains

beyond the opaque light falling

closing our eyes

arriving at the inner sunset

a timeless treasure

si tu me miras (watching the sunset)