this pouring
the act of pouring
wine into this very glass
this very cheap box of white wine
sliding down the surface
of the translucent vessel
the vehicle of this
very moment
that
is the mind
of
god
in my delusion
this undying
night.
Author: Pablo Saborio
nacer hoy
A veces
es
más
fácil
negar todo
que empezar
el día.
Eso que lleva
el nombre
de corazón
no sana su sutura
esa herida que se me abrió
cuando choqué con la
historia.
Cómo se explica
la alegría
de no entender
la vida.
En qué enciclopedia
se encuentra
esta inocencia,
la puerilidad
de haber
nacido
hoy!
Poesía Moderna
lessons in finesse
A standstill collapse
locked door
sneaking a peek
to glimpse the rotting fuel
tunneling down a pipe
these anchoritic pieces
of me
falling into the orgy
of
classless waste
— a humming noise
coming from the wall
and
the thought
that you’ll never leave
this toilet alive
why should i?
this could be my last
excretion
my masterpiece of unpremeditated
feces
the revelation of the kingdom
of heaven
precisely when my
fat butt cheeks
begin to contract
for the final
plunge
(into the consciousness
of process and
decay)
jesus lord the fetidness
now
the work of
cleaning the gorge
my hands
gosh my hands
have mastered the crevice
SPOTLESSSSSS!
i stand, faucet, dry
Unlock
the world
return to the busy society
as another impeccable
glamour divinity
of the
human
race.
Modern Poetry
la cura
Sí
sí
sí
las palabras
y la vida me cansan;
la cura es no pensar más
y acostarse dentro del sueño
que alberga
las estrellas, el mito y la muerte;
paredes, pisos y ventanas de silencio
una noche tan sutilmente inconsciente
que a veces se me olvida
que hay una especie de mundo allí afuera,
a veces sueño
con poder dormir
en mi eternidad de blandura
como sombra
envuelta en
ocaso
Poesía y Nihilismo
busy living
No reality,
reality does not satisfy me
and it hasn’t tried hard enough
to sugar me up
I need alcohol
to soften the rough edges
of futility
I need chemicals
to inebriate the chemicals
of my brain
only then
reality
is reality
I can
surrender
to.
Modern Poetry
giving up time
Now that it’s
clear
that I write
the worst
poems of modern
times
I have excess of words
to give out as cigarettes
to the homeless freaks
of tomorrow’s
cave
I have these empty
whiskey glasses
for the saddened utopia
of ultimate
reality
giving up time
as a shoe
that blistered my feet
but a bum of philosophy
took up
as a joyride
to
perfection.
Modern Poetry
aforismos inquietos
A estas alturas
pensar es aumentar
la agilidad del desconsuelo
el mar
me aplasta
con olas que no
nacen de mis
decisiones
como espectador
los horizontes
caben como sombras
en mis olvidos
es la necesidad
de la línea ser
recta
y de quebrarse
siempre
en el bostezo
suspiramos
en reverso
estando el alma
cansada de tanta
existencia
en esta ficción
de vida
el refugio
está en la
en el sonoro arte
de
inventar
Poesía Moderna
indictments
It is no accident
that we grew civilizations
like beards
on the first day
we became pubescent
instigators of chaos
the profligate erosion
sculpting heedless
landscapes on the arc
of this catastrophic planet
was not
enough for
the erotic sapiens
complexity as fetish
how the tables have turned
dread
served in Smörgåsbord style
for queuing prole
while the offices are
pulpit for the priesthood
of the abstract totem – $
and the day comes
carcass-congested rivers
clearing the malaise of cogito
the terrible sunshine of noon
falling on the
unadulterated
playground of the earth.
Modern Poetry
oda al producto
¿por qué toda esta historia,
para terminar
enroscados en cierta
melancolía de cables,
función y suciedad?
y yo
inventando una mitología
para este segundo
porque la sed
es de omnipresencia
o será de
transparencia
colgando
historiador sería
de los grandes vuelos
del nocturno alado
en la circunferencia
de la iluminación
dando algunas razones
para observar
inter alia
la soledad de otras
cosas
al margen
del evento
significativo
absence of essence
perhaps waiting for
that god to return and play
me like a
machine
who can I address
they all still believe in something
and I have this runaway course
poetry is my SOS cry!
I am not creating a worldview
I have an assembly line of doubts
working day and night
in the sweatshop of my
irrelevance
if you see me one day
half-dazed under an adjacent
shadow
compare the intangibility
between that shadow and me
compared our borrowed existence
the shadow merely the absence of light
on an extraneous surface, I an absence of essence
for a superficial world
if you see me one day
near the docks
you’ll see that my dreams
are not voyagers
they are seagulls
suspended in dead
air
nihilistic poetry
Beyond Language 
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