Heisenberg wrote my biography
and I soon discovered lives are given and taken,
but never fully known. So I guess running wasnâ€™t an option.
Regardless, I ran in the rain with kids from the block,
until thunder struck and fear bloomed in our impressionable minds.
You could say I feared the transition,
the expressionless threshold.
But I fought. I fought the paralysis by not moving.
I did! I did!
With the social drought and my youthful thirst,
my focus shifted to acceleration.
â€œNothing is ever
really lost, or can be
This knowledge brought rapid rage against a world that owed us nothing,
even when we deserved everything.
However, five hundred and thirteen white roses didnâ€™t fit in my car then,
and they donâ€™t fit now.
That was until love found me
and I tried to hide, unsuccessfully.
Oh I collided, I collided so hard against the highway median
I had to walk all the way home. From that point on coffee wouldnâ€™t do,
it had to be ice cream.
Tito died that night.
I couldnâ€™t prevent it, Nana tried to give him medicine, but he left anyways.
After Tito died I imagined death to be a dimension where we become slaves to thought,
confined by deathâ€™s potential and immensity.
Poor Tito, he was never much of a thinker.
If I had to pick one memory it would be JosÃ© JosÃ© on the record player
on Sunday afternoons beside the crumbling window
while you sat in the chair that still holds the impression of your frame.
During those days
I believed in the power of â€œya lo pasado pasado,â€
but never again,
the sky was an infinite space that once entered would trap me.
That spring I left you in the house of my youth
as the heavy rain flew though the open window and made a puddle on the floor.
On the ground it was a river, against the roof it was our choir:
Abuelo, sing the Belen song with me again.
Who can blame me, I needed to know him better,
it was our first date, but his past-selves where slipping away, he was changing
right before my eyes;
he was changing into a man Iâ€™d never know.