Lima Vision
The city
Under a wounded serpent
The city my city
Into dust
My mother my father
My absent brothers
And this cloud of earth
And this serpent of earth
Over my astonished
And silent heart.

Vision: La Paz
I write to you
at four thousand meters,
over the thirty thousand
people I have seen
on the road. The air
is not propitious
for poetry.
I sit in an enormous
watchtower to control
loves and souls
and sexualities.
All Bolivia is in the closet.
All of Peru as well.
And probably
the whole Andean
old city.
Enclosed in the closet
of our desires
and our trodden upon dignity.
A giant amaru drowns
from the hard crust
that separates it from the surface.
A new tire
crushes it right now.
To see and run and be defeated
countless times.
In which wave
do you rob the air?
Through which nook
finally feel your legs,
your round ass,
your frothing vagina.
We are all saved.
We are innocents
over such a rigid ice cream
of the world. Not even
all the devil’s gestures
can dissimulate our milk teeth.
The Andean world passes
through a deep period of refrigeration.

To Tilsa Tsuchiya
There is no color that does not beat
and does not open us to life,
no rose, no profession known
or unknown that does not tell us
from behind, or always,
that does not call us discreetly
in our insides.
There are roses, strange sensations
like a radiant necklace,
a lukewarm overcoat,
like a waterfall rushing
that pursues the youngest fish
to caress them.
There is no extreme, no order,
no disorder, no adventure,
no memory,
everything is one task,
one bridge,
one shining of sun in water,
on the tongue, the teeth.
There is no going away, no return,
no far away. Only
a beautiful cabbage
with fresh and quiet leaves.

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“No hay distancia que te vuelva inaccesible y llegas en volandas y hechizado”

Bendito anhelo-Goethe

Coram me

inocente vientre

inocente tregua

inocente verdad

acércate a mirarla que aun te espera,

acércate a mirarla y dile que has vuelto,

que has vuelto por ella y su pan,

acércate a mirarla,

para reír en invierno de una tarde en Lima.

Lacerando

caminando

callando

tú,

el nido que duerme en otro planeta,

la luz entra en ti

y el ave ya ha volado.

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Hojas y arena

¿Por qué amo y nadie me ama?

Silencio sólo silencio.

Desesperadamente corre un silencio por mis venas.

Las montañas son…

tus manos

a mí

Mi chompa colorada

Vivo soñando querubines y robando panes

Lluvia de los ojos de nadie

Los únicos colores vivos

son los de  las flores y el arco iris.

En la fiesta de la patria encontré

una hermosa kantuta tricolor.

Y una multitud de personas y lunas

y vientos y mares y musas.

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