So this is how one writes a book.



Maybe when I skydive I'll be ready to jump.



I wanted to touch it because it was moving.



Best to surprise yourself.



Are you going to waste water because of a sound?
Look what's underneath.
Touch and whisper earth.



the walk (short) I

"Here we go."
I'm shaking I'm so nervous, not even down all the stairs yet.
I'm already sitting.  My sidewalk bench.
Saying hi to my doorman is a feat amongst itself.  What did he ever do to me?  It was his wife that kept interrupting.
So here I sit, smiling, breathing, finally.  And I think, this is how I lost my shit.  By not being able to sit right here and write, neighbors passing by, a speck of white sneaker (not my own) a siren (pause) a jackhammer (x2) but with the recognition of its affect on me, the breeze returns and the children's strollers wheel by, a buzzer sounds, saucer, clap, door, a rusty wheel like rattling change in a can.  Someone recycling...  life.  When I thought it wasn't here, it stopped, and people really did slow down.
"Un centimo para comer" a man just asked as he passed me with a full plastic bag and without stopping or changing the look on his face.
"Soy escritora, tengo menos que vos."
Maybe this isn't even true, but at least I'm stopped, right here on this bench, between car alarms and babies crying and I smiled.  But maybe it is.  My interior is shredded strips of cloth hanging on a clothesline drying, actually, I'm pretty sure they are dry by now, but there's not much left in my suitcase.  Papers I removed from stuffed drawers, (pause)
Thank love for that forgiving bird.  The sun is warm.  Time for a walk.
But down or up?  When the questions come, from now on I just get up.
I think I'll stop every time I laugh.  Here on this corner I look directly in front of me and can't believe I stood right there in the middle of the street (exclamation point?!)
The arrow is hilarious, it was pointing right, to the left of me,. no, "
"behind me."
I stood right at the tip, the white line curving to the direct, and I was right there. brushing the face of...
"anything coming down" (hill)
I wanted something to knock me down.
But then I turned around and followed the sun up.
To blindness.
This is where the pause is so long my mouth goes dry again, and, I turn around a few times in the same spot.
My own shadow reminds me
I am not alone.
"20 minutes" (mumble)
"wow" (whisper)
I suppose I'll walk a little more.
So many breaths while I wait.
To laughter!
"I swear to love I just heard someone laugh!"
How about to where I thought I'd like to adopt a cat!
"no", (I look quickly away from the electrician's store.)
"ah, it's closed." (laugh)
probably better.  I scared every person I came into contact with.

Except for a doorman.  If you explain your shit to a doorman, they will let you in!
So apparently the light that night wasn't red at all.  After a good debate he showed me, flicking it on and it is a good, old-fashioned disgusting yellow.  I stood in the same corner where I was and didn't recognize a thing.  He supposed the man who stopped me was a resident of the building.  I do remember something was going on there that night and I'm glad to have not been a part of it.
"las cosas locas solamente pasen por el día aqui." and I laugh because one of those things is me.
The breeze is cold and I'm not wearing enough to not be in the sun.  I'm now safely in it but writing behind the blue circle with the white arrow, in the exact spot where I lost my shit, and inertia is not at all what I feel.  I was looking for it though that morning.
because I knew it was right here, in the middle of this street, just a few trees down, that I lost my ability to let go and I waited underneath those trees so long that they changed from pink to green.
But now I can cross on all sides, wait or jaywalk in peace.
At first I just saw one tree with no leaves, but I kept looking and then saw the other one, even smaller, a scrawny, wobbly junior lamp post of a tree, both black, gnarly like old knuckles; but then I looked again and now I sit and look at the tree between them and I think it was there where I was standing and there's both green, and pink! and there are flowers, waving downhill towards my open window.  --arte


Poem (uno)

Do I wait for your call
Or do I walk to my calling
It is there whether you want it or not
I do, and for this, even in the jolt of last night,
My ears covered my voice out
Their ears open to hear my shout
I sang.
Were you on that train?
Did you see me dance right there on the line
Leaning into the tunnel
Did you really see?
Did you feel the stretch as I hung from a place I didn't even know I could reach?
Did you notice I only marched forward?
It felt so good to lean back
One whistled but the others sat and watched and I knew it
So perhaps tomorrow we shall meet again
I will look for you
I will look for you in me






Whatever sign you're looking for is your sign.




   I work when the sun is out

                                                          (www.thegreatawake.com coming soon)



            Vivo en el mundo que me gustaría que sea. 



A room is a lot easier to cross than an ocean. 



Going to the library, anybody want anything?