he’s thinking precisely the same about me

Oh, it’s that part
of the day…

I have to stop
pretending that
I’m a writer
(or at least a good enough
one)
and leave the house
and go to work

I make myself get away
from the keyboard
and get my backpack and
put my shoes on and
that’s all I need

I get out
and walk around the building and
see him
by the alley benches

I can smell him
too

He’s soiled his pants
again

It happens at least once
a week
and eventually his wife
comes out
and handles things somehow

But I know
it’s not easy. I see it

It was easy some six or seven
years ago before
he had the
accident

I don’t even know how to put
it in medical terms. All I know
is that the
guy had some brain infection
that ate away at
his sanity

and it happened slowly
and painfully

And it continues to
happen

and the wife is regarded as
this hero, this saint, the
martyr of the neighborhood
for not leaving his side
even though she’s only in her
early thirties

He makes eye
contact with me as I pass
him and
starts nodding
and a slim string of saliva
dangles like a jellyfish
tentacle
as it hangs from his chin

I nod at him
and acknowledge that
he’s had better days on this
Earth
and I’m sure he’s thinking
precisely the same about me

Then I look up at
the gods
and wonder that they’re thinking
of our future
because I honestly do not know

Many thanks to Gobblers by Masticadores for featuring my poem, "he’s thinking precisely the same about me"!

Check it out HERE!

https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B09C46RMPS/allbooks?ingress=0&visitId=96628550-28a0-4f19-9a78-7717f0614bbd&ref_=ap_rdr

Thank you!

30 October 2025 2

you are empty

this Saturday
he wakes up in the
afternoon
and
curses his dreams

Goodness, how long
has it been
since the last pleasant
dream?
What about the last
nightmare?

Even nightmares were
better than
what he was having now

A void
a nothingness

empty

Which does remind him of
an older day when he
used to play some
videogame titled
‘You Are Empty’
on big bro’s computer

fairly good times
with nightmares that were
better than dreams of
nothingness

The game, horror though it
had been, did not give him
nightmares

big bro did

"Since you wanna play so hard,"
big bro had said, "we gon’ make
it more interesting.
Every time you die,
Perro gets the can!"

Perro was the little parrot
dad got him
before going away. It stood
in a small cage in
the hallway

and the can… It was
a can of bug spray big bro
used to spray the
poor thing with
when he was in a sadistic
mood
which happened too often

Mother was away
at work
or in the company of some
new man she was
trying to convince to
become a stepfather

She had very little
success with both. With
everything.
And she was tired.
At all times.

Big bro had all the power in
the house
so how could he not
abuse it?

It’s just normal to
abuse power
when you have it

The miracle is when
you don’t

but there are no
miracles

So Perro got sprayed
a lot

And got sick a lot
but didn’t die

His feathers fell off
and the scales of his
little feet
peeled off and looked
like boiled corn flakes

yet still
death would not
take him

Abused creatures have
their own way
to spit back into the
face of their abusers

It’s for this very reason that he
decided today
to make another visit
to his big bro in prison

Maybe even buy
something
nice for him

Many thanks to Gobblers by Masticadores for featuring my poem, "you are empty"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

22 October 2025 7

beer mixed with tequila

I felt it in the
side
as I woke up

some kind of cold
claw scratching
gently, playfully at
my ribs

I blinked a few times
and turned to her

“Hey!” she said. “Get up
and buy me some
beer with tequila.”

I opened my mouth
and she immediately covered
it with her claw. “Not
separately,” she said.
“I mean beer mixed with
tequila. There’s gotta be
some brand like that. Look
for it.”

“Who’re you?” I asked

“Just another one of
them, dear. I don’t
care what you name me. Let’s
just go get that mix
of beer and tequila. See, it’s
not exactly a cocktail. It’s
more of a beer, like, in
a can, but it says on
the label that it’s
mixed with tequila. Uh,
something like that.”

One hour and some
minutes later I’m in the
supermarket
and I spot a girl that
looks exactly like
her
minus all the
non-human features
like that claw and the sharp
teeth

So often it’s the things
you think least of
that
are the most beautiful

We’ve been tricked into
liking supermodels
and superstars and all
the TV people and
influencers

meanwhile
gods and demons alike
bow their heads in shame
when they look at
your local grocery store
cashier

How in the hells
and heavens alike can
some people be so
pretty, so gorgeous
I’ll never know…

Well,
anyway
let’s get that
beer and tequila mix
real quick

I wanna enjoy it
with her
while we write some
dark poetry

Life is
good

Many thanks to Gobblers by Masticadores for featuring my poem, "beer mixed with tequila"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

18 October 2025 4

I pass by him and observe

yeah, he’s past that
age where
men put up fake smiles
to be liked
and to fit in circles

I think he’s in his
early
forties

Good man

works all day and
keeps his
mouth shut
even if he’s asked something

Great man

At 6 PM the work day
ends
and he drives home

and parks in the
driveway

and spends another two
or even three hours
in the car

windows rolled up

silence

enjoying a can of beer
and thinking
aimlessly

just standing in
silence and
thinking

And I pass by him and
observe
and the more I do so
the more I understand

the closer I get
to becoming
that man

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "I pass by him and observe"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

16 October 2025 6

insanity can be toyed with

it’s weird that you can
grab these tools
in any hardware
store
whenever you want

hose and a
duct tape

and sleeping meds
from the drug store

It’s all available
these days
and so it should be

Society shouldn’t try so
hard to keep all of its
members alive

she could preach for hours
on the subject
and would do such a good
job about it
that even you’d start
believing

On that night when she
confessed
her madness to me
I told her, “You can have
fun with your insanity. Chance
the world even.
Hadn’t all the people who
changed the world been
insane?
Don’t be too quick to
throw it away or seek to ‘heal’ it.
There is another way out.
And it’s through.”

She said she knew I’d say
that. Because her insanity
was the ability to
see into the future

She then left
because she knew I would
not lend her
my car to
suicide in it by connecting
the hose to the exhaust pipe

“You can’t drive a car,” I
said. “Ain’t got
no license.”

and she said, “I don’t wanna
drive it. Just
do the thing with the
hose.”

“Yeah, but to do that
you’d have to take the car
away somewhere. Can’t do it
anywhere here in the city, you
know?”

“How about you drive us
somewhere–?”

“And then what? Come back
with your body on
the passenger’s seat?”

She didn’t say much after
that

She could see the
future in 144 branches,
as she put it.
144 possibilities for
it to unfold in every next
144 seconds.

Meanwhile I was
so short sighted that I
couldn’t even see
what she really wanted when
she suggested that I drive us
both somewhere

She wanted me to go
with her
all the way
to the other side

I’m not sure I would’ve
said no
back then

It would’ve been part of
my insanity

But, what do you know,
even that changes

If you stick around for long
enough you
discover that it can
be toyed with - the insanity

The form it has today
is the form that
allows me to write about her
all those years later

She was mad enough to
see the future

I was mad enough
to see her

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "insanity can be toyed with"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

9 October 2025 7

people who give me advice

he was that type
that took no
shit from nobody

but unlike most
people living like that
he was not ignorant
or prejudiced

he knew exactly what
he was doing

and lived by his words:
“People who give me
advice are actually giving
themselves advice.”

I’m so glad I’ve
heard this
before even thinking of
giving him advice

the words hit so deep
with their truism
that I not only didn’t give
him advice
but actually asked for
some of his own

I looked up to him

and became
like him

Today
I too write

and people give me
so much
advice, it’s crazy

They give me so much
advice
I never run out of
characters and stories
to tell

It’s all in there
In the advice they
think they’re
giving others

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "people who give me advice"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

2 October 2025 10

Prison Saint

yeah, he had this crazy deep
scar
across the face

not from ear to ear
but rather temple to chin

it was the kind of
scar that’s impossible to
replicate

no fakers and no worshipers
will ever
get that tattooed right
on their faces

He’s got a lot of
followers, admirers
around the prison grounds

they look up to
him
as to a guru of sorts

yet he’s got nothing
to teach

nothing other than pain

self inflicted

On his first night here
he wrestled another inmate
for an iron nail
that was supposed to be used
as weapon or part
of a weapon

only, he didn’t want to use
it to hurt anybody

but himself

Only… he didn’t hurt himself
with it

No, he really just placed the
damn thing on his
left thigh
and hammered it in with
a fist
all the way to the bone

and then smiled
as the rest of
the prisoners watched

Yeah, it was the overwhelming
sense of fulfillment
this man felt with his
deed that
brought the others on their
knees
and convinced them to
worship him

It’s been months since
the incident
and the wound still hasn’t infected

not a damn thing
happened. Like he’s no
real human being
as the rest of us

I guess it’s this transcendence
of humanity that
determines us
all
to watch him as a saint

We bring him
all the metal we can
find or steal
and watch him insert it into
his body
and hold it there
and not get infected

he is truly…
not of this world

He’s a saint

the other day I
brought him the rusty handle
of a spoon
and he did look upon me with his
limpid, dispassionate eyes
as he drove it into his
armpit

Tomorrow then

I will do better than all
my friends
and bring him a real
actual
true knife

It’s gonna be my
day

I’m going to make it

Then the whole
yard will know that I
am in this man’s favor

Prying the knife off
the guard’s
hands
shall be no challenge

by now
they too
are followers of
this saint

Oh, I can’t wait

I’m going
right now

I’m going for
it

Many thanks to Gobblers by Masticadores for featuring my poem, "prison saint"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

30 September 2025 9

I can always laugh

I wash my hands into
the sink
and don’t move them
much

just let the water
flow over them

suddenly I start laughing
in silence

wheezing

“Are you kidding me?”
he asks from
behind the mirror.
“Laughing?
At a time like this, in
a place like this?”

“What’s wrong with
laughing?”
I ask

“Laughing is a social
phenomenon,” he says. “It is
only acceptable when performed
in a social environment
along with other people! You
have no excuse for
doing it alone.”

I dry my hands
and nod
to myself

then we both start
laughing

and the others
join in
from all sides. The seen
and the unseen

Honestly,
what a blessing it is to
know that I’m never
alone

therefore
I can always laugh

Life
is good

Many thanks to Gobblers by Masticadores for featuring my poem, "I can always laugh"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

24 September 2025 2

a watermelon in the streets

“D’you remember?” he said. “That time when
we returned from work. We were
working in the same place
back then.
And it was dark outside
and we walked along the street when suddenly
there’s this big
watermelon
that pops in our way. We walked up to it
and gave it a few
light kicks and convinced ourselves that
it must’ve been dropped
by some delivery truck or
forgotten by some merchant. And then you had this
brilliant idea.
You said that we should take it to my
place and share it.
I picked it up and to my place we
went and we shared the sweetest watermelon
I’ve ever tasted in my life. Love
was obviously
the secret spice there. We were
so poor back then
we were crazy enough to pick some random
watermelon from the streets.
Well… not much changed today. I’m still
poor and you’re
still my imaginary girlfriend. We’ll
be together
forever, you and I.”

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "a watermelon in the streets"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

20 September 2025 14

keyboard warrior

he was jolted awake by a pang of
pain in his side

Like the devil stabbed its fingers
into his liver

It was cold and hot in the same time

He couldn’t stand
could hardly breathe

His eyes went big into the darkness
and he looked around
and saw that the time
was 04:17 in the morning
and he was still hunched over his
improvised desk with that
cheap, second-hand laptop before him
in standby

So nothing new
he’d fallen asleep again while
battling the keys,
fighting to come up with the immortal story
he’d promised

‘Shit!’ he thought. ‘To whom did I even
promise it?’

But the answer was all too
obvious. ‘Myself… I’ve to get out of
this closet apartment one day.’

He looked to his right
where his six-year-old daughter was sleeping
in the old sleeping bag. She appeared to
be having another one of those
fever dreams
that would make her cry all day because
of the ‘scissor spiders that sawed
fingers and legs together’

Hell, but they were still
a bit better than
the dreams of mother
who won’t be around by the time she
woke up

He breathed deep and
slow
and the pain in his side calmed some

He was also terribly hungry
and it felt like
it affected his vision. Made it blurry

There was only
one cure for
all of this

He resumed his battle with the
keys

Hoping to all the gods that the damned
laptop won’t break again

“Just a few more
chapters,”
he whispered as he swallowed
bitter saliva

Many thanks to LatinosUSA —English edition for featuring my poem, "keyboard warrior"!

Check it out HERE!

Thank you!

11 September 2025 2

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