tengo 28 años
y dejo una parcela de diario,
lo dejo plasmado
en mi exilio
en el viaje
en el cambio
que envuelve la verdad
como la noche abriga el silencio
dejo mi diario silencioso
como una postdata
a lo que el lenguaje
nunca pudo expresar
dejo una minúscula obra
de aventuras
perdida en el espiral
del tiempo
que no lleva
punto final.
A portrait of nothingness –
the tininess in between the worlds
the invisible underlying cup
a blank canvas for the painted universe
absent undisturbed gulf
the sleep that dreams me
while I play hardball
with the junkies of pursuits.
The day begins
has it?
already night
the stars squash me
with their colossal laughter
is it funny or cruel?
hopelessness is my cue
I’m a colonial boy
with imperial regrets
I have stepped onto cities
that once existed, oh history
I – is a word
the most engrossing word
for the conscious beast
I am impossible
and all the rest
I step onto a stone or an abyss
which?
is still undecided
She is my pond
I drown
her innocuous waters
I drown
leagues infinite bottom
I drown
and never die
her waters are hands of mothers
her currents womblike sighs
I drown
songs that swim like free fish
my pond
the place where I dissolve
like a borderless ripple
she is my pond
where I drown
ineffably
in an entropy of love.
I enjoy
being
the only one in the world
who does not
understand
a single
thing.
The wind
brush
over my internal vacuity
my eyes
two stellar regions
by the naked dark
the atom in relation to all
my heart in proportion to nothing
the wind
many times
a close brush
with
the imperishable
the blacker self
convoluting
within the wandering
poet.
I am drenched in words
like skin that covers my intellect
while sitting here
I do not feel like any word
neither floating nor sinking
in between two nondescript states
perhaps more
plucking my names
human, animal, person, soul, pablo
petals – I exist or I exist not
an empty receptacle
in my hand
or a savory thought
or gone with the wind.
Tres días después
de la noche
cuando dormí en mi vómito
Tres días después
de la noche
cuando casi borro
mi sonrisa por una mueca
cadavérica
Tres días después
de haber pisado el purgatorio
lleno de mis espejos ebrios
Tres días después
en cuenta regresiva
al día que todo esto
se vuelva a repetir
Tres días después
un hereje
sollozando en brazos
de segunda luz.
Probably
every day of my life
is an eye
chains of eyes
closing one after another
it’s no wonder
that I feel this weariness
settling in
as
perception
frees me
in
a swelling
proliferating dream.
Beyond Language 
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