Im dizzy drunk from this bilingual existence. My very body split through and through by a technicolor city,the mural of the naked woman on the cuadra not to far from my house, and the words pase lo que pase on the wall in the bookstore where i pretend to study.This country which has given me much and to whom i can thank for making me a skeptical dreamer.

1.Ben wants us to write poems together over these millions of miles and i hope his words can reach across the world and shake me like they sometimes do when we are sitting so close to each other the hairs on our arms can touch.

2.hope they can teach me what it means to be more than a quiet train passing through some unfamilar landscape. remind me where i last left my soul. Did i forget it there at the alter to el diablo? mistaking that pile of stones and discarded cigerettes for a tribute to the pachamama. who apparently enjoys to smoke from time to time.

Teach me again what it means to be a poet.
To think and breathe then write something so painful or beautiful that is cannot be written.
to try and capture this hard, rare thing called life.