martes, 19 de mayo de 2009


What's he building in there?
What the hell is he building
In there?
He has subscriptions to those
magazines... He never
waves when he goes by
He's hiding something from
the rest of us... He's all
to himself... I think I know
why... He took down the
tire swing from the peppertree.
He has no children of his
own, you see... He has no dog
and he has no friends and
his lawn is dying... and
what about all those packages
he sends. What's he building in there?
With that hook light
on the stairs. What's he building
in there... I'll tell you one thing...
he's not building a playhouse for
The children what's he building
In there?

Now what's that sound from under the door?
He's pounding nails into a
hardwood floor... and I
swear to god I heard someone
moaning low... and I keep
seeing the blue light of a
T.V. show...
He has a router
and a table saw... and you
won't believe what Mr. Sticha saw.
There's poison underneath the sink
of course... But there's also
enough formaldehyde to choke
a horse... What's he building
in there. What the hell is he
building in there? I heard he
has an ex-wife in some place
called Mayors Income, Tennessee
And he used to have a
consulting business in Indonesia...
But what is he building in there?
What the hell is building in there?

He has no friends
but he gets a lot of mail
I'll bet he spent a little
time in jail...
I heard he was up on the
roof last night
signaling with a flashlight
And what's that tune he's
always whistling...
What's he building in there?
What's he building in there?

We have a right to know...

(Tom Waits - Mule Variations, 1999)

martes, 5 de mayo de 2009

Helena encontró su lugar:
supo que debía moverse.
Embarcó hacia viejas edades
sin despedirse de quienes
la vemos de espaldas.
Entre las valijas deposita
encanto en sus puloveres,
una cintura escrita
a fuego, algunos libros
suyos y prestados, la
neblina purpura
que le obsequié
el ultimo día
que ambos cantamos
sobre sabanas de tela...
Esta vez, llenas.
En un saludo se fundió
el panorama siguiente,
los meses de ausencia,
los versos que escribo
sin equilibrio desde
mis versiones. Tantos
yo para abarcarte
en apenas segundos
de palabrería.
¿Cuál es la extraña
razón que nos envuelve,
Helena?
¿Poder demostrar valor
en la huida, la forma
de coraje mas dolorosa?
Estos desgarbados pensamientos
están felices de haberte cruzado
los brazos por la espalda,
sosteniendo tu silueta,
ya ida.
Junto al cenicero está
el resto de equipaje,
alguien que no se ha olvidado
de terminar un cigarrillo
encendido sin decir
unas ultimas palabras de despedida.
Aunque no me mantuve quieto,
mi movimiento te sigue esperando.

Otros pensamientos IV

"Y acordate que mientras mas gente conozcas, mas vas a querer a tu perro."

Matias.

lunes, 4 de mayo de 2009

Cuando poner títulos es crear una defensiva.

Levantar muros perfectos en oraciones breves,

prohibir una brisa entre frases subsiguientes,

escribir un epitafio donde la vida.

El lector promete los martillos,

y la voluntad de derribar

diptongos de hormigón

en grandes castillos

de papel y cartón.
Prefiero las sorpresas que
no llegan
en bonitos envoltorios.
Aquellas que se
desenvuelven
como (con)
moños
tienden a
enredarnos
de manos,
de pies,
de ojos,
de boca,
de nariz,
de oídos.
De idea,
de espíritu.