small poetry

by then
i had crossed
the reason

language was tender
naive and insipid

i was beginning to write
with motion
a salving madness

i began asking
for the drop
to steal

a spark in the horizon
a mission
a long-drawn laughter
after the joke of life
had been exposed

it was with all the things
we came to know
that i crossed
the sadness

at last

by the emptiness
of the road.






Poesia de locos

He hablado toda mi vida,
veo cosas
que no se asemejan
a lo vivido

les hablo
de todas formas
es natural
pronunciar sonidos en mi cabeza
aun cuando la boca
calla y saliva descansa;
les hablo como si pensamientos
fueran el idioma de lo extraño
lo meramente incomparable

son cosas
sobre las cascaras
de las cosas viejas y rutinarias;
cuando trato de tocarlas
se alejan infinitamente,
de sentir miedo, pero no;
asombro y mucho de retraído

empiezo a sentirme
como agua sobre lo mojado
no soy entero
sino goteo
de algo que no es yo
pero se siente
como un

hago las cosas normales
en este mundo cuasi normal
pero me doy cuenta
lentamente que todo va lento
y que hablo como loco
sobre la locura que vivo,
con esta voz que me acompaña
desde que me acuerdo de lo que sea,
me acompaña ahorita
cuando, por alguna razón no revelada,
penetro una fantasmagórica cavidad,
la cual no toco,
no me siento,
o tal vez



regions of a soul

Areas of a Soul

the distance
of things from my center
together with the dripping self

language rests as a drop
on a fatal slope
or a sound in frozen space

I have hands
but they never touch

I have thoughts
but they never refer
to anything

and while I feel like cancer
growing on the insides
of my own soul;

I have bled beauty
like a suicide of god

there are areas of life
inaccessible and foreign
my flesh is ghostly
my feelings barely perceived

I am like a spark
engulfed in its luminosity
and everything beyond it
staggering darkness

in that incomprehensibility
I move and dying.




Evangelio Poesia

Siempre he querido recibir
un evangelio,
una tira de pensamiento
tan absurdo
que haría de mi semblante
algo serio con propósito
y así podría marcar los días
como un camino irrevocable
hacia la verdad,
una revelación de fuego
haciendo de toda percepción, evento, sentimiento
memoria o idea
plena irrelevancia,
y este ceño una nueva forma de reír.


on decadence

Decadence Poetry

is not simply
squandering away
the last remnant of this life
– for all that’s left are remnants –
the art of demise
is hardly only destructive,
it is a destruction following creation
a long struggle
to create something pure
in us,
yet once the new
has been achieved
desperation sets in,
necessarily we strike
a deathblow –

making all the
necessary room
for newer


nihilism poems

The fallacy of existing

Existence Poetry

something set me         loose

abrupt and cryptic

sailing in a       medium

that infuriates me

                   headway headway

progress is like a precipice

i knew about the          rocks

long before my pessimism

took over

corroding the oars

                        my bores

counted like stars

yawning as naturally as breathing

boat body bodhisattva

drowning in the air

sinking in the blood

world   me                        (mindless)            me          world

nothing is so big and cavernous

so         ingrained

in occult emptiness

within the rising steam

of hot silence

            the anchor

the destiny

simultaneously my hunger

the greasy milk of the sea

fattening the grand course of solitude

scraping against the seabed

slowing the haste

            the waste

a motion brave and stupid

pushing me like a vessel

of filament

            farther              further             away

from the goal of existence:







Existential Poems