Late Storm

End of April yet snow
Storm came through with a heavy heart
Spring was hard in the days of old

The Kite (by my dad)

Over Colorado's sky
Steered by his Pilot's handy hand
The orange kite



AEI

a ball

A ball is a ball is a ball

C’est ci n’est pas une ball

April is almost gone

Ode to a simple Life

Life is Short
We all know
Or leaned or discovered
One way or another
And there is charm and health
In leaving it as a productive life
Surrounded by family and friends
Isolated from the currents of the world
From what has always been for me
A small life
One that I rejected
A large life in a community
That shows up
For your last goodbye.

nobodies fault

Anything else?
No that was it I've got it
I'm kind of busy

an uneasy feeling

It came to my mind
in the latest times
that watching old movies
and new
and videos of recent years
all flicks of artists passed
that we watch
that we perpetuate
repeated movements
repeated words
repeated gestures
now mechanically performed
void of human life
a cheap Morel invention
accessible urbi et orbi
not just in a retired island
at the tips of our fingers
and it leaves sad
and happy to see my heroes
and triste to understand
that they will not create no more
a single note
a single verse
a single smile.
I am afraid
that I can know understand
my parents nostalgia
for their childhood saints.
I have lived in the now
hand in hand with my world
maybe now it is a moment
to reset in my mind
the true speed of time.

aguas (escrito por mi padre)

Cataratas es un lugar cautivante 

En el cual aparece la magia Guaraní 

En forma de lluvia ascendente.

Besos húmedos de fragancia rubí 

Ceibo en flor y canto de aves.


AEI

Dos Narices

Cuatro patas cada cual
Largas orejas y ojos ansiosos
Sus narices húmedas

back pain

It has been there

silent, persistent, all winter

Am I growing old?

happiness is a kite

His eyes too large for his face

His hands too small to catch it all

His smile welcomes each soaring kite

awkward

unsung songs i fail to sing
yet in many moments of stress and of grim
i start them with all my heart

Purgar

Ser Argento implica

Vivir con la idea de esas islas

Marcadas con fuego

En tu hipotálamo

Al nacer

En el centro de tu ser

Y estar obligado a rememorarlas

A bendecirlas

A añorarlas

Año tras año

Hasta el fin de tus días 

Sin presentar un disenso

Un pero un punto suspensivo una coma. 

Pero para mi fueron

Ese Averno helado

Que se llevó la vida de tantos

Una generación anterior a la mía 

Que se hunda en el océano

Que se pierda en los hielos

Sus rocas no valen una sola vida

De mis compañeros. 

Chau, y si te he visto,

Sabes, no me acuerdo.