From Transgressions for the Public Service
Experimental poetry album, 2020:


The simple things need no explanation.

They have very little in common
with the language we use
to mimic formal communication.

It matters not whether we believe, we proceed, we inhibit,
we keep to ourselves, we try, we say never mind,
we keep safe distance, we jump to abyss in weekly loop,

we make ourselves better based on book of instructions,

we remember, we remember, we release it, we fix it

we make it doable, we dismiss it

we declare war or apologize profusely

or act like it’s never been there.

We dance to songs that speak about it, without leaving public traces

we read it on the news
or pretend it lets us sleep.

It matters little whether or not its parts are visible,

whether or not others can see them
whether or not we dare to caress them.

I know of some who spent a whole lifetime telling stories to cover up the facts
for the sake of entire worlds of numb, basic, safe existence.

There are tales we never need to let go of,

there are rivers we never move on from,

there are voices and silences and shattered pieces of glass within the skin

and Sunday nights

and phone calls that never happened

and uncomfortable interactions

animal footprints and catastrophes and winters

we need not recover from.

There’s one image of you, and maybe more.

But see, the ritual consists of repetition.
It matter nots whether we howl or I replay in my head the things that aren’t.

The music is still louder.

The rivers never stopped flowing.

The light always got in, somehow.

The music is still louder.

The rivers never stopped flowing.

Delight always got in, somehow.

The light always got in, somehow.

Delight always got in, somehow.

The light always got in,

the light always got in,

the light always got in,


Below, a series of poems titled “Aftershock” written between 2015-2016


No, I will not have mercy on your memory,
I’m gonna hang it around my neck each morning.

Where our names were once worshipped,
no longer the stars and the beasts.
With impenetrable fury I will devour each evening,
thick layers of autumn will be vanished from our story.

I will not have mercy on your image,
I’m going to spend it all, humid and ardent
I’ll turn it into my blood, blood of mine,
my poison… impertinent echo.

No, it will not have the truce it deserves,
love of mine, body of mine,
mine the orifice where swallows bloomed from
each time we kissed.
All of it mine.
My sun.
Nothing will be left when you call out my name.

Poor memory of you,
wounded wolf in my cage,
in my deserted womb, in my death cry.

It will become eyelid, mouth, palate, or needle,
if it asks me for shelter I shall bite off its ribs
when the winter spills, I will turn its fear into a well
If you are aching me, I will blow smoke where it hurts.

And if I cry for you, love, and if I mourn you,
I will dry up my anguish with the last of its threads.

I shall not have mercy on your memory.
I will hang it around my hips, like a war talisman,
because I haven’t lost, no, I am still here
it is you who is the ghost.

Where our bodies were once worshipped,
no longer the fire and the children.

I will be so cruel, that one day, it will have nothing else to offer me,
one day,  while I sleep,
it will pick up your shadow,
it will turn off your name,
it will leave the door wide open…
and run away aghast.

Then I’ll be free.



How can we ever explain what happened…
How could we ever retell the story?
The sound of these memories is so sharp
the whole village woke up paralized.

I know: it was my doing and my undoing.

All of us, completely still,
quietly waiting for it to be over.

(I’m so sorry, said the giant. I never meant it.)


Your love running free and wild, is mine…
Mine every lover along the way.

The village had begun to see its first harvest.
Children ran up and down the mountain
and danced by the river.

I should stay in my cave
the giant thought,
…But he was hungry again.



A certain fear impedes me from moving forward.
I have nowhere else to go, no land I’ve left untouched…
Move away from me. Run faster.
You are young and beautiful, you are free!

I would’ve listened, I swear,
I would’ve followed his advice.

But the giant and I shared our chains for so long,
We’d become one and the same.

-Set yourself free – I said as I held you desperately…
Hoping it wasn’t too late.
(What sauce would you like to be eaten with?)


The penitent one no longer rains,
in her villages not a single trace of light.
The penitent one no longer rains,
in her villages, not a single trace of you…
not a single trace
of you.

Strings of smoke all the way to the heavens
choruses twice as long preachin’ and prayin’.

You should see it, baby! The whole place is a mess!
You must’ve felt it, sweet thing!
You shoulda never… you shoulda never.

-Do you mind? I’m trying to weep-.


Atemporal, Bilingual poetry selection, New York 2015
Street Light Visions (alucinación a cuatro tiempos), bilingual poetry book,
(H)onda Nómada Ediciones, México, 2012

Edad de Sol, poemario, New York 2011
Anatomía de la Arcilla Incoherente, (Anatomy of the Incoherent Clay) Poetry, 2010, USA. Prologue by Jairo Anibal Niño, Colombia.
Distortions in Red, Poetry 2010, Limited Edition, NY
How to catch a Public Belief, Poetry CD, 2010 Limited Edition, NY
Des-instrucción improvisada: Re-programación gramatical y teórica, Poetry, 2009, Object Book, limited Edition, USA
Poesía a varios tiempos, Poetry CD, 2009, NY
• De amor, desamor y otros infortunios: Porque la vida es bastante moralista los lunes por la mañana, Poetry, Object Book, 2008, USA
Because the Flame is Alive, Prose and Poetry, 2007, US and Canada (Bilingual Edition) – Sponsored by American Eagle Outfitters and published in the US and Canada.
Pacto del Girasol, poetry, 2004, USA
• Semillas de Paz, 2000, CD de poesía, Miami, USA
• Alas de Papel, Poetry. Editorial Educar, 1999. Prologue by Fernando Soto Aparicio, Colombia.
• Preguntas sin Respuesta, Ministerio de Cultura, Colombia – Poetry, 1998. “Best Book of Poetry of the year”-Award by the Colombian Book Chamber. Prologue by Jotamario Arbelaez, Colombia. (5 editions published, more than 12,000 books sold).
• La Mariposa y Bogotá, Short Stories, Colombia, 1998
• Tesoro del Alma, Audio Cassette, Colombia 1998
• Una Niña, Audio Cassette, Colombia 1997
• Gatos Soñadores, Poetry, 1997, Object Book, Costa Rica and Colombia, Limited Edition
Las aventuras del camaleón, Short Stories, Colombia, 1996