blinds
Our parents came from far
crossed valleys, dunes, crops like sugarcane
oozing clean rice prairies, steel bridges
and finally settled in the vast desert that had found abandoned
the metropolis, the silence of the gods
sober and fruitful marched in search of a country,
one side of the land where the rains were good
is to know the heat wave and the dust of a decade
nights were the brilliance of
most beautiful dream about the weak spots of a city emerging
My brothers were not yet teenagers
and place that lasted a bike ride
small squares defoliating tamarisk
solitary old carob known only
iguanas and small clean neighborhoods, families enjoying the cool
the
front door Oh summer nights
ether girls wild wet weather, oh my village
and remind people bet on the New Bridge
measuring the terror of a possible flood
overwhelming flow of the river that infuriated each
seven years and the first neon signs reflected
your electric water
splendor on my people, infancy stage beauty
irresponsible parents as a sweet cloak
that loneliness at the end of vermouth
or left alone in the madness of crowds
run Oh my streets, my adorable geometry
I thought, where to go to find a soothing to my death
Where to go, Dad, Mom brothers, where.
Solitudes
Piura II appeared on the threshold of my door
Do you waited months, years, books, conversations?
A meeting in the city bitch
was a good pretext for
turn a beer and told me of a sad-haired hembrita
was dark as the novel he was writing was like the silence
closed I have not talked to anyone in months - he told me there is nothing here
-
and drank beer constantly
And it is terrible thought a lot about death,
was a teacher in a town in the desert-
terminate the license now find wisdom in their movements
and in our lives where it will stop
thoroughly hate the streets of this city - and then tells me we got
. In the bar, he wakes
In
time in memoriam Luis Hernández
I never met him.
is destroying your muscles
their gardens.
had the solitude of a cyclist.
Laughter as a spring.
Perhaps his only hate
Out goodness. We do not know.
(They said he was sick)
slept alone in his hotel. In its peace
left corner
to meet for a costume
perhaps the gentle sea, the crowd
or fine desert.
Conversation with my dad in his sickbed
Now maybe death is not a beautiful word.
Your black eyes stare at me, gently
cling to a thread of life, the silence from your lips
where I read my name spoken with love and loneliness
an arrow triggered the world
this afternoon in which I am alone with you and understand
oxygen,
serum, needles breaking your sweet
veins are also the days when we walked together
under
against the carob Old Market, a block
sun gilding the beauty of your people / Piura
Wind of the six kisses the heart of Hannibal
kissed the earth as hot, call
to life, remind the girls
body - water jug cool, tell him you
have passed all controls
hospital nurses making love
irascible and now you're stroking your hair
straight but he can not sleep realize and
dominated by fever and diabetes l / How will
last night? In this last verse of the poem
know that the hospital birth and I will replace the wind. Written
office
To write a poem sitting in the office
What do
checking files, index cards, letterhead paper
loneliness and pelikanol
"Yes, Good Morning"
"By whom ?
song which was to be lost
by telephone wires, howling dog in the neighborhood
This is to llorrar
and
no comfort among papers burned in my memory
and rattle of machinegun fire in the liberated areas
The song is stranded by
unnamed streets, the unnamed and silent broad avenues
lit highways in the night shadows, neon and mercury
spray mist of
bodies in the cold and the approach of dawn
Oh what to do
tired buses are lost in the distance
and there is nothing that looks like life or death
nothing worthwhile
remembered or written or sung
then what song here in my song
but the emptiness of the blank pages
the next poems a fool's game to play as sensitive
urban wind
the
girls skirt and you have no way to remember a love of stamping
silence on the morning of June
goddess of beauty desires and unexpected appearances
the rattle of calculating machines
obsesses my solitary recreation
soft smell of fresh ink in the pituitria
my name reminds me of my job fierce
my sudden silence
but who will do these days is
bottleneck
the city is a giant shell
a sea bay to the strike without mercy or cruelty
and I see walking
under the trees toward the rendezvous with his mistress
compact cold in the tight jackets
but what one can see a flower in its pot
between 2 walls and parquet
) of anything to anyone in the pit of love (
the flower is laid on me
and strokes
light shade of the tiles and allowed to shake
by warm air that maybe comes from
not know where to go but I hope
the wide avenues and quiet with traffic lights
solitudes broken seat minibuses
a horse trotting
the city spreads like a plague or a curse
and watches approaching at 12 m wind
dead I breathe
monoxide as cancer 
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