Un día me levanté
hice el café
con taza en mano
abrí la ventana
el aire fresco
entró en los pulmones
me fijé al cielo
cerré la ventana
terminé el café
y me acosté de nuevo
no sé si para dormir
o para dejar de hacer
las cosas
que ya no
importan.
I cannot wait
to be in your teeth
ripped apart
in black disguise
by your plotted fangs
and crushing grand schemes
I can’t wait
to be flotsam
that nobody finds
in your sea of control
rotten planks
sinking into an insignificant
quiet disappearance
I cannot wait
a minute longer
to be fake rice
in your fields of expansion
never becoming
more than a spot
of white nothingness
amidst your supreme
everything .
Hungry for reality?
3 cups of phenomena
1 stick of self
2 tb of boredom
1 dl of lethargy
1000 pinches of suffering (or to taste)
Stir thoroughly.
Bake for 6.5 decades (approx)
Let cool in a vacuous wait
Coat with thick layer of illusion.
Sprinkle with futile expectations.
Ready to serve.
Enjoy your creation!
gray ground
nestling
the little curvaceous
seeking self
a methodical
appraisal of the
unintelligible
empty fields
arising
an axiomatic love
of chaos
and labyrinth
light never
ages
but its image
traverses time
the tree was spotted
as the period
at the end
of a graceful sentence
that spoke of
a timeless seed
the eyes that were
given to me
eloped with darkness
an affair
of unknown
qualities
and reverberations.
todo
contiene
el sabor
de todo
lo demás
con cuál fragmento
de la totalidad
apaciguaremos
el desasosiego
humano
la vida
es una lengua
que saborea
únicamente
su propia carne
en este núcleo
de sensación
no habrá más
que otras sensaciones
pero de qué?
de lo mismo de siempre –
la espesa bruma
de una eternidad
desapercibida
.
A day’s surface
its skin of smoke
ASTRAY
The world escapes
flickering like
a stream of thought
A glaring red instant
Remains
as the incomprehensible
dream of
e
m
p
t
i
n
e
s
s
.
Cómo caigo en Madrid,
a respiración pura
bebo su sangre y vino-
con qué locura
acepto estas muestras de fugacidad;
hay perfumes que hablan
con todo contacto
el lenguaje de transitar
cuando ya divaga la mente
sobre los torbellinos de
sus ojos, sus labios,
otros cabellos, la
risa desinhibida
de una y otra mujer . . .
caigo como sombra perpendicular
sobre un lago negro lleno de
peces y lucha; son calles
de calles desenvolviéndose
como las curvas de un
deseo oculto – miro
atrás a toda esa poesía
que viví y compuse
en esa ruta amplia y desviada
pero que no dejé plasmada
en esas hojas de papel –
era arte y vida dialogando
eran un par de noches
de libre albedrío ,
dos noches
dos sueños después
ya estoy en otras tierras,
otros laberintos.
The petal has rivers
long opulent light against the breast
solely swirls in silent colors
my skin upon the sky’s skin –
certainties are wrestling
over collapsing possibilities
the leap has a tinge of sorrow
the chain rattles
a river of petals
aging
on an empty
course to bliss.
.
The greatest liberation
came when I dropped
the pretension to happiness.
It was freedom from category,
from hope, from knowledge,
from purpose.
I immediately recognized
that reality has no meaning,
no destination, no description.
All happiness seemed trivial in its
relation to one condition or circumstance.
I preferred truth.
I did not find it in the philosophies, religions
and sciences.
The dawn of despair set in,
total and unequivocal,
but despite the existential ache that ensued,
it brought with its gloomy light the necessary
vision to initiate in truth:
the denial of all former values.
If existence was factually beyond
the reach of words,
it could not be grasped in recorded knowledge;
it could not be explained by the logical sequence
of premises and postulates;
if it had a truth, it needed to be
immediate and self-evident.
Truth cannot be imposed onto reality,
it would distort it otherwise.
Reality is the only truth –
and to discover what it is
I had to drop all attempts to define it…
merely become aware of it
and allow its transmutations
to speak its truth.
.
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