Monday, January 30, 2006

Con los puños cerrados,
por Reo Del Cigarrillo

Con los puños cerrados
dentro de los bolsillos,
los dientes apretando
la mandíbula de fiera,
el corazón desbordando
la cavidad del pecho,
la cabeza rebosando
de furia e ira,
lava recorriendo dentro
las venas azuladas,
los ojos blindados
derramando lágrimas de pus,
la frente sudada soportando
una corona de púa,
los pulmones inhalando
palabras envenenadas,
los llagas en los hombros
socarrados de virtudes,
las muñecas abiertas y
encadenadas de cenizas,
el pecho perforado por
letras de plomo,
los pies enredados de
la hiedra de cementerio,
les quiero desear una
feliz navidad

DerechosReservadosReo Del Cigarrillo

With clenched fists,
by Reo Del Cigarrillo

closed fists
inside the pant's pockets,
teeth squeezing
wild animal's jaw,
heart bursting out
chest's cavity,
head over spilling
with fury and ire,
lava flowing inside
blue stained veins,
blinded eyes
spilling tears of pus,
sweaty forehead sustaining
a crown of thorns,
lungs inhaling
poisoned words,
open sores on the shoulder
scorched of virtues,
slashed wrists and
chained by ashes,
chest perforated by
leaded letters,
feet wrapped by
the cemetery's ivy,
I want to wish all
a merry Christmas.

Translated December 17, 2003
Copyright: Reo Del Cigarrillo

Friday, January 27, 2006

Palabras en la cabecilla
de un fósforo, por

Reo Del Cigarrillo

¡Que abismo tan profundo
aun no tengo
idea a donde parará!

ahora mis alas siguen
pleno vuelo,
el cansancio
llega a pesar
no veo
un punto de escala
para reposar
de éste resbalo

mas oscuridad
que parpadeos
de luz,
cuales me dan
señales de es-

El corazón
duele y
le pregunta
a la cabeza:
"¿Y ahora qué?"

hombre común
hubiera sucumbido
tanta incertidumbre,
aun tratando
de mantener
a flote en alto
con ojos hacia
la prosperidad.

Dudo encontrar
el límite
del abismo
en el suelo
de la

Copyright: Reo Del Cigarrillo


Words found on the tip
of a lit match, by

Reo Del Cigarrillo

What depths of an abyss
to have no
idea where it ends !

Up to
now my wings continue
on thorough flight,
begins to weigh in
I don’t see
a transit point
to rest
from this vertical

I see
more obscurity
than light’s
which give me
signs of

The heart
aches and
the brain:
“And now what?”

common man
would’ve succumbed
in the face of
so much uncertainty,
while attempting
to maintain
with eyes towards

I doubt finding
the abyss’s
on infinity’s

Copyright: Reo Del Cigarrillo

Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Violent Violets,
by Reo Del Cigarrillo

Concludes all evidence
of this existence.
The nights' eyebrows adjourn
with the strumming
of an out of tune guitar.

Cats in the alley
accompany the moon in its bereavement,
sad funeral attended
by unknowns, salaried.

The bile and salt dilute
the pain's scream
in the nocturnal plane.

The violet's violence,
enamored of violins
left a pale debt after
the siren's departure.

A chorus of crickets affirm
to the sparse school's audience,
the mission of each mute syllable.

The clown's shoes
were the last ones to understand
life's a joke,
a prank that would require
an explanation.

Violetas Violentas,
por Reo Del Cigarrillo

Concluye toda evidencia
de esta existencia.
Clausura las pestañas de la noche
con el rasgueo de la guitarra desafinada.

Gatos en el callejón
acompaña la luna en su duelo,
triste sepelio concurrido
por desconocidos, salariados.

La hiel y la sal diluye
el grito del dolor
en el plano nocturno.

La violencia de las violetas,
enamoradas de violines dejaron
un saldo pálido después
de la partida de sirenas.

El coro de grillos afirman
a la audiencia esparza de la escuela,
la misión de cada sílaba muda.

Los zapatos del payaso
fueron los últimos en entender
al chiste de la vida,
una broma que requería
una explicación.

Del Poemario "COLOR"
COPYRIGHT: Reo Del Cigarrillo
The (literal) wailing wall,
by Reo Del Cigarrillo

If you could only separate
your tentacles from the mirror,
and once in a while
take a look in my direction,
said the stoic concrete wall.

I never tire of holding you
inside these four vertical planes,
you've never even noticed that
I exist and that flowers grow at my feet.
I know you've asked before -
"if these walls could only talk",
well I can!

You have taken me for granted,
for being the fortress to protect
the birth of your dreams at night;
for giving you a shade when the
sun wears down on your aging skin.

Look at my pores, feel how they breathe,
see yourself on my gray surface.
I am not the captor or the suppressor
of your actions. I am not the jail
with a grip on your thoughts.

I have stood still for quite some time,
your punishment is your stay
in this confined space.
I have listened to you sigh, moan,
and curse at the shining moon.

I don't have hands or arms to hold you,
I don't have pain to reciprocate,
I don't have to reason with you

COPYRIGHT: Reo Del Cigarrillo

Thursday, January 19, 2006

Beach bums, by Reo Del Cigarrillo

There they are,
the regulars, the beach bums,
they are here all year long,
yes, even winter
I know it, I see them.

They resent the summer crowds,
they feel that the beach gets mistreated
and not revered as it should be.
After all it's nature, wide open,
the ocean could suck them
with one big wave, if she felt like it.

Many dip into the water
with their belongings, jewelry,
they rather take it there
than chancing it on the blanket.

The ocean doesn't discriminate,
if you drop it, it's gone
there are no exchanges or returns,
that is the ocean policy.

Consider yourself lucky,
the ocean could claim a stake
in your life and spit you out
somewhere you have never been
and to see things with a different
perspective, you know?

Take it from the beach bums,
hang out, enjoy the sun
have a little fun
look at the girls with the new bikini styles.

From Salt 'N Pepper
COPYRIGHT:Reo Del Cigarrillo
Perro, por Reo Del Cigarrillo

Sueños callejeros, por la esquinas
olfato retorcido por la polémica de pulgas,
conocido por la vulgaridad,
lamiendo el testimonio entre piernas.

Nubes de lenguas babeando los orificios,
eyaculando dolores placenteros
Caminando con 4 y montado en 2
partiendo las paredes de canales, veloz.

Ama el amo y la mano que muerde,
plancha el hocico y se traga el sol,
caen los tachos y saltan gatos bigotudos,
espantados del putrefacto olor a miércoles.

Mandíbula del can sofoca el aura del aire,
hembras paren cubos, prolongando seres
contaminados con células de rabia.

Orinando en la vereda, mancha los sueños
botánicos de una hormiga,
zángano y patan,
el perro y su peludo pene
con los ojos al fondo del pesar,
olvida el remordimiento
y persigue el deseo de los impulsos.

COPYRIGHT:Reo Del Cigarrillo

Dog, by Reo Del Cigarrillo

Street dreams, twisted scent
at the corner by the flea's struggle,
known for its vulgarity
licks the testimony between hind legs.

Clouds of tongues drooling pores,
ejaculates pleasant pains.
Walks with 4 and mounts on 2,
parts the canal's walls, rapid.

Loves the owner and the hand it bites,
lays its jaw open to swallow the sun,
trash cans fall and big moustache cats jump,
scared off the putrid odor to high hell.

The dog's breath suffocates the air's aura,
bitches bear cubes, prolonging canines
contaminated with cells of rabies.

Urinates on sidewalks, stains
botanical dreams of ants,
lazy and crude
the dog and its hairy penis
with sorrowful eyes to the back,
forgets remorse
and follows wishes upon impulses.

COPYRIGHT:Reo Del Cigarrillo

Friday, January 13, 2006

Fuente, por Reo Del Cigarrillo

La fuente del poeta
proviene de la desesperanza
como marinero zozobrado
en altamar,
quien trata de flotar,
con un rosario y una oracion,
aun sabiendo
que todavia le falta
conocer el fondo del mar.

Fountain, by Reo Del Cigarrillo

The poet's fountain of inspiration
arises from desperation
like a sinking sailor
in high tide
who attempts to float
with a rosary and a prayer,
even knowing
that he still
has not met the bottom of the ocean.

Copyright Material
Derechos Reservados
Reo Del Cigarrillo

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Elixir Revised Version

How would I navigate
above a blue wave,
to see the speed of an abyss,
in short,
the essence of a satiated life;
instead of the agonizing details,
the pestilence of boredom,
the agony of each second,
the dust piling over my body:
with intent to bury me alive.

The battles I've engaged to
avoid falling to the bottom of inertia,
the sweat drops I've released
to fill a few replenished from surfeit.

Every color has a reason under the light,
albeit of halogen,
the veil of darkness on its own
serves to denominate all
the colors with one name -


How would I navigate
above a blue wave,
to see the abyss's speed,
in short,
the essence of a satiated life,
instead of the agonizing details,
the pestilence from boredom,
the agony of every second,
the dust accumulation over my body;
with intentions of burying me alive.

The battles that I've engaged
to avoid falling to the bottom of inertia,
the drops of sweat I've released
to fill the few replenished from surfeit.

Every color has a reason under the light,
albeit of halogen,
the veil of darkness in itself
serves to denominate all
the color bands with one name -


Cómo quisiera navegar
sobre una ola azul,
ver a velocidad de abismo,
en resumen,
la esencia de una vida saciada,
en vez de detalles agobiantes,
la pestilencia del aburrimiento,
la agonía de cada segundo,
la acumulación de polvo sobre mi cuerpo;
queriéndome enterrar vivo.

Las luchas que he emprendido
para no caer en el fondo de la inercia,
las gotas de sal que he suelto
para abrir las pocas llenas de hastío.

Cada color tiene una razón bajo luz,
aunque sea de halógeno,
el velo de la oscuridad en sí
sirve para denominar a todas
las bandas de un solo nombre -

Del Poemario "COLOR"

Del Libro "Reservorio"
No Roben
Hijos Mal Paridos

Monday, January 09, 2006


Oh modern day poet
stop the lament
and drop the mirror.

live, love
and laugh.

listen to
the children's

Abandon your ego
and id.

Live life
now and fly,
blood's not
an illusion.


Garbagemen discuss poetry at the ballet

Erect I stand
between an angel
guarding light
and a demon
safekeeping a flame.

Light and flame, both,
according to the decoder.

Don't needle words
from verses,
beware of the
lesser harm that
from guns and knives.

Words depict mirages
of richness and poorness,
of life and death,
but more of
than black and white,
and from this confusion
the wound bleeds slowly
and the enduring pain

A good stab or
a good shot
does not mince
with ambiguities
and there is no further

A period is a

Derechos Reservados Del Autor

Friday, January 06, 2006

Vicio Circular

Hastiado del juego
poeta expone al universo,
espera al pez,
arriesga la carnada del pellejo,
recibe una caridad
o limosna por el esfuerzo.

Viene el hambre otra vez,
su ego padece estímulo,
repite la secuencia,
otro ciclo y pronto
se convierte en vicio.

El fuego y el hambre perduran,
el seso perplejo dialoga
y todo hasta cuando:
¿Para qué?

Circular Vice

Surfeited of the masturbatory
a poet exposes the universe,
waits for fish,
risks bait from flesh,
receives charity
or an alm for the effort.

Hunger returns,
the ego lacks stimuli,
repeats the sequence,
it becomes a vice.

The fire and hunger linger,
the perplexed brain talks
and all until when:
For what?

Reo Del Cigarrillo
"Recipe to bring down a statue"

"Six Bangalore torpedoes,"
Sgt. Kris Catts, 23,
reciting the explosive recipe he used.
"Eight blocks of C-4.
One M-12 — that's shock tube,
it'll detonate when you push the button.
One M-11, another shock tube.
One M-14, a timer fuse, set for five minutes.
Two M-81 fuse igniters,
in case the shock tube doesn't blow.
Fifty feet of detonation cord."

Reo Del Cigarrillo
"The Queen and The Bushes Banquet"

(with acknowledgments to the NYTIMES):

Guests at Queen Elizabeth's state banquet
were seated at an immense
U-shaped table brimming
with floral arrangements, candelabra,
fresh fruit and a dizzying array of gold-plated tableware
and wine glasses.

The queen sat at the head of the table,
with President Bush on her right.
Laura Bush, the first lady,
sat between Prince Philip and Prince Charles,
the Queen's husband and son.

Mr. Bush's entourage sat within earshot,
including Condoleezza Rice,
Colin L. Powell and Karl Rove.

The guests, who numbered more than 160,
dined on
roast halibut with herbs,
free-range chicken,
potatoes cocotte,
and a sorbet bombe.
Wines served included a Puligny-Montrachet;
Champy Père et Cie., 1996;
and Veuve Clicquot, Gold Label, 1995.

Musicians, who were positioned on a balcony overlooking the ballroom,
offered a program laced with American staples,
including a selection from "South Pacific"
and the folk song, "Shenandoah."

Reo Del Cigarrillo

Rush Limbaugh's Candy Recipe

Ode to Oxycontin

C18 H21 NO4 · HCl MW 351.83

The chemical formula is 4,
6-one hydrochloride.

Oxycodone is a white,
odorless crystalline powder
derived from the opium alkaloid,

Oxycodone hydrochloride
dissolves in water
(1 g in 6 to 7 mL).
It is slightly soluble in alcohol
(octanol water partition coefficient 0.7).

The tablets contain
the following inactive ingredients:
ammonio methacrylate copolymer, hydroxypropyl methylcellulose,
lactose, magnesium stearate,
povidone, red iron oxide
(20 mg strength tablet only),
stearyl alcohol, talc, titanium dioxide, triacetin,
yellow iron oxide
(40 mg strength tablet only),
yellow iron oxide with FD&C blue No. 2
(80 mg strength tablet only),
FD&C blue No. 2
(160 mg strength tablet only)
and other ingredients.

Thursday, January 05, 2006

Aguardiente Atlantic

Molded thoughts,
sculpted words ,
goddesses slain and
lectors lined up from Cartagena
to the vast lands in Patagonia;
some were tense
from the suspense:
what would be next?,
they exclaimed.

Along the Pacific coast
some lit up cigarettes,
others made idle chatter.
Along the Atlantic coast
some had aguardiente shots,
other spoke on their cells.

"Bullets live for one shot,
words ring for ages,
thirst for sex rages,
peaces stalls war hogs.
In bellicose times
breath not to live,
but to love more",

spoke the poet
known as prophet,
and at times an idiot.

Remain mute,
speak not a word,
stall the bard,
agree to refute.
Speak one language,
praise one God,
bury past baggage,
p(oe)ut away the mirror.