A CENTIPEDE

You don’t sleep well, don’t live well, dreams fade. Time is over again, yet you started a second and third lives. Pieces of love clean this room. Money comes, tears go. A scream cross our minds during odd hours. Eyes are open but don’t see, so we have to touch. You stopped dreaming, but the nightmare remains innocent. Everything abandons the room—light, sounds, words, you pull the centipede out of your face. Only we remain, clinging to one final hour of sleep.

HILLS

Went up many times, down was a whole different thing. Running toward my parents, to get the bags. Fruits, fish in a cone, hooks in boxes, fabric, velcro. The skin on your arm is a lizard, I said. Gravel walls, sun, fleas, poison, murder, innocence. Nobody loved the cops then. We chose in Winter. We never prayed for hunger, but because of hell, no worries. Ivy, fences and wires. A cat shattered by dogs opens a mystery, behind the doors, beyond wood, under a table, in faces. Steam from wet ground, water on the face, face to the sun, to get blinded by secrets.

LEVELS

Clean but not soft, I could be a stone. An Olmeca head, a glass in a bottle, air on air, Want to see my hands? Can I see your eyes? Through your mask, I see you: shy and poor. Not enough. Unusual. One steps back, one goes on. A code breaks open, revealing new levels underground. -1, -2, an internal pyramidal spiral. Millions of drops of water.

A WAY OF POOLS

I know this place, we used to come for fun. No sunblock, sky blue, yellow flowers falling, a jackrabbit runs against us. Bats replace gliders in a purple night. I walk, through fog and steam. Red silhouettes light my way. Three pools in front of me: square, S-shaped, and C-shaped, like hindering something. Before to leave I close all six doors of the house but turn on the faucets. I can make the sun come out, but I don't want to, I just light an invisible candle. Grass is black, and feet have no sense, so I walk dizzy. 20 km southeast the hill breaks in two.

LOST TECH IN THE OCEAN

It's gone. I don't know. No instructions left, just senses. A cat, a face, an object, a baby killed, a baby farting. Is this even working for anyone? 200 km off the Pacific coast, a polygon lies on the water—untouchable, unknown.

A SUPERSTRUCTURE

16 toys in 5 rows. A pact with the devil keeps them together. We pray the black day. We beg for the secret. I want to enter. We smooth corners with forgiveness. We kiss the hand of the rule. We accept poison to spread into our lungs, to laugh, to shout.

NIGHT AT MY FATHER’S

I sit on a warm chair, hands on wood, blue light tickles my memory. Seagulls over the roof, where I lived a life. It's going to rain, we say to each other quietly. Everyone is in the backyard. The rain is going to move to Santiago, we say. Where I live another life, I think.

SPIT FOR LOVE

Pupils shine on a red face. Same hair fading differently. Fingers swollen, heart is everywhere. Vulgar words bounce on the walls with precision. Eat my chest and I'll eat yours at a constant pace. A winning streak started so I spit on you. I'll smell your breath one last time. Blood pumping. Behind the bushes, I hear the the voice of the missing ones.

NOW

Fuck the countryside, fuck organic, fuck all Montessori kids and their parents. Waterfalls in silence, woods hidden, no shortcuts, no trucks, I want life here, now, every second, for all. Not less, no dreams. Rain in the air, mysteries unsolved.