cumming in the men`s room when god is on your side.

so this weekend, i went to the beach with a cuencan sociologist and a spanish economist that works for medicins sans frontiers (they`re shipped off to zimbabwe soon), and my girlfriend,

the latter of which i love, a sentiment that has already entered into personal history through speech, that is already gone and coming back again, like a circle.

and reality´s a fiction we like to draw near to when we open our mouths.

*

i often then, this last week´s end, wore my public, quiet anxious mask, the uncomfortable one, pried off at times between gulps of alcohol.

i turned red, but not as red as last time. i ate seafood and drank juice and got bit by mosquitoes and ants, and wandered around searching for half-an-hour squinting out of eyes filling with sweat and suntan lotion--water and beer proved hard to find.

i stood in the ocean and felt nature´s rhythm, a tide rhythm that flowed through my mind later as i tried to fall asleep. i peed in there and stole seashells from god.

i came and took cold showers.

*

tonight i stumble now apathetically now eagerly through a julio cortázar short story called las babas del diablo. i was supposed to have read it two weeks ago.

i paused to write a poem

(imagine that a row of chairs were never understuck with gum,
and then you´re on your way.

vagina that has never bled of blood, nor one that never will.

a restroom that has never seen a seed that´s spilt out on the floor,
and then you´re almost there.

but then again, why yearn this version of a fucking world.)

that i began to hate shortly after it was born, after it´s existence was distinct and singular of my own. i feel i wanted to be a writer again, felt humbly unqualified and painfully unerudite, unaware of nearly anything, but realized i was a writer, any way. i do write.

*

several children counted change back to me, slowly, steady, right the first time,
but let´s hear it for second chances and 2nd tries.

1. you are the awkward mascot on my motley team´s side.

2. you are the soiled bride, bled red with life, like ocean cums on white.