On the streets of this city
you can find a multitude of trash and treasure
both male and female
Here comes one now,
black dress
red lips
he could have shaved at least
Sidewalk hypocritical
spittle
a single man’s shoe
a plastic prosthetic leg
someone isn’t going anywhere
a suitcase with a broken latch
that has no place to travel
Unraveling
the stories of the street
El olor de churros
y chulos en la calle
Cuando camino
a veces
paso detrás de una mujer
que huele increíblemente bien
Y quiero tocarla
sólo para tener su olor cerca de mi
mientras tropiezo en mis sueños
(The scent of fried churros
and pimps in the street
At times
When I’m out
I find myself walking behind a woman
Who smells unbelievably good
And I long to touch her
If only to have her aroma close to me
While I stumble in my dreams)
Dreams are a myth we make without thinking
when we wake
we are this and this too
this is where we fall into waking
when we hit cement.
