our new york father who art in heaven , hallowed be my surname , race , color and friends shit your gallery and your little puppie give us this shit our dayly donuts : and forget you and well all the anti genuin artist that excrement in your mouth to be in your benedict museum where you are employ of yourself to pay less taxes , and you welcome the anti -artist to become THE ARTIST TO this advertacing world. blow jobs with class with out class stand up the weak sensitive man wake up the old lame woman all the submitted , with out a voice , incomplete silent, invisible today people like you that abuse the genuine the incocent . u will see : and go with the little man , like i look the birds like i admire the lame girl , the deaf man , the handycape boy , the transexual parents that do a great job. i go with free dogs far away for street dogs . with out sucess , just loving . i come to burn to eat your pictures . i came with flowers, to disolve in your eyes with anger in my words but with more peace in my heart .

i have the banana leaf the white floor i have a smile under my weeping some day i need to go to court to continue living where i live. to say that i love my wife and i need to prove that i am real . i have free coin on my pocket one work that i dont like a boss that push me over and over again. and i am alive. i want a diferent life in the same place that i live. anyhow i can not live without love. and i will tell that on the court . white floor banana leaf wall paper on the guest room. one avocado over the freeze i have you have mine .

last night I saw a great sofa left on the street of nyc city with out love forlom , desolate last night i ask for kindness , and they give some other superficial thing. last night i bike to 345 romantic street apt 2b . and nobody was there. las night all the boys where girls on angry pigs hearts. last night i ask for love. and i didn find it anywhere. people write shallow things on internet , that is all about . some vietnam war inside them . shallow graves shallow monkeys shallow preatty shallow love writing powerful in the silence of empty, that is what we have. i have a elefant on my finger , i have no friend around me . i am here in new york alone by myself. feel my pain husban feel my experience wife the people that i loved , come inside me tonight.

Antes de no tener tiempo antes de tener frio miedo alguna una cosa simple. a ti . te busque hoy en las calles de la ciudad , en la mirada de algunos extranos . oh como te busco pasa el tiempo oh. oh pasa el frio las cosas simples, los miedos las cosas mas complicadas. todos pasan en la ciudad frente a mi bicicleta a mi todos pasan. En bowery llueve. y algunos no contestan mis llamados. pierdo algunos amigos en nueva york. y es dificil hacerce nuevos americanos . me duele el poquito en mi mano . pero esta todo bien como dice mi madre . los ultimos anos me hise mas borracho , por solo esperarte. quiero volver amancer con usted y construir esta ciudad junto a usted . en greenwich village , en algun bar todo esta vacio. te miro en los ojos del bartender y no estas ahi. lloro mientras levanto una pesa, lloro haciendo yoga, lloro en silencio en el trabajo no lloro por ti , lloro por mi , por que no estas aqui.

i cry new york i cry and dance .

i cry flowers
when my plants die
i cry spring water
When I see that my dream with you are far far away.

and you dance ,
The other dance.
in that strange mood
And you :
strange dance

back memories from another world
is new York

i dance silly new York
in my apartment out side the water
i dance uncoordinated
In my island , in my boat , in broken wild heart .

i cry for the Hudson River
from the Williamsburg bridge
i cry for 5 av, 2 av, 1 av , Washington square ,
In the name of east village, west village , I eternally cry for the old New York.…
i cry when i see how the city die , for the lost gangs, the real artists/
i cry when i see the tourist in soho,
I cry for the jews , for the latinos, the china town , for the chileans that live in New York , I cry , sadness I cry .
i cry for my memories of you in Mexico
I cry for the distance of us.
I cry for the hole of in the city that will kill me next year .
I cry music :
I cry for the small dogs of the short mundane people, I cry for all the lost new yorkers.

again is your face,
your sad face
and i cry with a smile
i cry .
inside the gym
in that tacky gym i cry lifting a weight
calor , dolor , humedad
pain , humidity ,
something else
from my roof of Brooklyn , from my root ,
All I could do was cry and dance .
Cry and dance .

matas

quien sabra
que detras de matta
no hubo mata
sin raices.
quien sabra de mi
si no hubo mata
sin dolor .
escondido en la ciudad infantil de los ratas ( art dealers)
pintando menos que federica matta
matta
para
dejame
entrar
en el tiempo
de ustedes.
2014 mata.

diego santo

unholy but my grandmother was the poet.
diego santo was the grandson of the poetiza
of the andes i come to bear his blood
with three bottles of holy blood-

later ,
North america came
ground where rats are art dealers
the rich are deseperados
i told him :
i am from the andes .
the contaminated cordillera .