empty shadow

empty form poem


I saw a yellow house
a pillow
and a mother
that would not explain

the wind carried
the stars
like debris
my tongue’s tip
did not catch any

how the sadness
clings onto
the rustle of a leaf

I could describe
with lines and perspectives
the memory that
brought me here

beyond that memory
empty flashes of shadows
and hungry panthers of light

I saw

my hand
touch the world
like a
a dance.




Nihilistic Poetry


unknown nature

Our current knowledge
will be clear
to be no more
than a droplet
within an immeasurable
ocean of unknowingness –
we pretend on this earth
to know more than we
know not
we dispel mystery
because we have
a few theories
and laws of Nature
as a poet I seek
that vaster sphere
of Nature Unknown
I do not call it
but because of its
opulent mystery,
I deem it





Nihilistic Poetry

con un brazo de arroz

poema nihilista

Con un brazo de arroz

Y una infinita pluma de rocío

Rozo las arterías vívidas de un pulmón

Llamado: paradoja

Amo con cien cabellos crudos

Todo lo que nace en un espejo mojado de misterio

Lo percibo yo y la noche que me entierra

Como la razón incompresible de mi vida

Toco la figura ebria del cosmos

Y es apenas un recuerdo la vida

Antes de una muerte como bruma

Nombro todo excepto el nombre

De todas las cosas

Ahora que el corazón

Es un ancla en el sueño más profundo

Y los peces comen los huesos

De mi esperanza

Es ahora que abro un hueco

Para que caiga la nostalgia

Como un zumo de belleza

Y se concentre todo la verdad

De que nunca existí.




Poesía nIHILISTa

between himself as a fact and the other facts there is a harmony of metaphysical rhythm

metaphysical rock

I lift
the stone
and find

the sky
is the outer
shell of mother’s

they kissed
to imitate
a sleeping

I allow
the species of rock
to define
my heart

so many
surround me
like a fence

I collect
our sighs
like crumbs
of drying wax

if shop windows
were mirrors
we would buy

I pick up
a wet piece of paper
on the other side
said: impossible

I return
to the stone
lift and find:
archers with ash bows

my vision
turns red
and partly

I listen
to wisdom
and remember
its broken wings

I sit inside
a library
because there is
nowhere else to go.




Nihilistic Poetry