Escritura automática de jet lag.
Escritura automática de jet lag.
Copied from a notebook.
Found in a notepad from 2018.
Unas líneas en recuerdo de mi padre.
10.17 Saturday Night.
Another one from the Lost Haiku series, in a hardcover black notebook (2019-2022).
From the Lost Haiku series.
It came to me in a dream: a poem about poetry is not poetry the words we use are never ours it cannot rhyme, 'cause times have changed the flow is out of joint, as is our world no periods, no accents, except the one we speak with we write in tongues we were not born with it came to me in a dream I no longer remember only the voice of a friend asking where I was and we write like kittens licking a blank page on a typewriter our language sandpaper
Para Paty, Natalia y Camilla "En hierva de primavera nos convertimos" -Aztec poem, as quoted by Alfonso Caso (1953) What is time when love and memory are eternal? Pages on the kitchen's calendar; the flickering of dates on screens. It is all about "having the courage to continue", as I remember the poet & the thinker talk about, discuss distance as bodies in spirits, over the line.
“I don’t need to be forgiven/ For something I haven’t done /Not for wanting my family/ To find their place in the sun” -Billy Bragg The thing is, many of us can relate- they feel like neighbours, like friends, not quite mere mortals, no yet truly human, imperfect, like all of us, ambitious, yet kind, unlike many of us. Full of hunger: their feet on this Earth.