From the phantom tables
and vanished walls
a cloud of light
and thunder of shadow
the foundation is lost .
I still glimpse an inkling of
cold geometry and
wooden truth;
but the glue of substance
drips like echoes of brevity. . .
I witness
and no longer
participate.
The words smell each other
leaning against the tempest
an odor of absurdity
as the world mechanism
smashes your
head
against the window of
a satanic sky –
oh cause and effect
or the inevitable
question
of:
are we alone
in infinite shallowness
of thought?
the teeth of sky
grinding skulls
like mustard seeds
– a sigh –
the memory of light/anonymously.
What collocation of beginnings
side by side in the sky
looking through window
at a fiery gas and ox flame
woven in lurid clouds,
the unit of beginning
3 seconds of origin
awoken in the mist –
then return to the tunnel
of thought, drug and routine
as a dark spiral without
exit.
Dudo todo.
Porque si el mundo cae sobre mis labios
como un trago de constelaciones amargas
debo preguntar,
¿ por qué en mi lengua de grávida somnolencia ?
Que todo debe colapsar en vientre húmedo de sensación,
lo entiendo. Pero,
¿ por qué no se concentra el mundo en la punta
ardiente de un fosforo sediento ?
Cae el mundo como gota de luz sobre las papilas
de mi ciego odio. Lo saboreo como un arcoíris de tiempo mudo.
¿ por qué se expande el mundo como pupila de asombro
en la prisma de mi silencio ?
Que el mundo es el velo en donde se nubla el significado de las cosas,
lo comprendo. Pero,
¿ por qué queda este resabio de verdad en mi memoria
como si hubiera atrapado un instante de conocimiento ?
Lo dudo todo.
I was divagating in a fluidity of language
collecting in the subjective aroma of an objective pinpoint
a star deriving its presence by its undulating waste of light.
I contained the arching earth and the moon
pretended to shift through the clouds of a mind
like an unconscious mirror spinning.
The arrow of the sensation was pointed
towards a nectarous instant of sound
a long necklace of harmonies.
My hour is traveling through imaginary pleasing effects
the seconds are my mistresses in red corduroy –
the age – a vague perfume of disparate dimensions.
Hush
Husk of Art
Hang the veins of wings
Hurry through the vast futilities
Help me
Hungry man
Heights and heroes
Home in the plateau of chaos
Human Ocean of Being
Happiness as the mistake of ages
He and she and the mirror of passion
Hello
Hairy monster of tiny desires
Haunted origin of cloud
Hopelessly entangled in the
Horrible symptoms of my
Hallelujahs.
Las costas crueles del azul
y el tiempo de carne entre colmillos de la memoria;
hay una luna que eclipsa el fecundo sol del momento
amplia pared redonda de blanca ceguera: deseo.
La noche anciana de candado
y la llave rubia del arte
abriendo las constelaciones
del olvido.
La piel del movimiento es de escamas hondas
con un color que huele a pobre tinta de poeta,
obras de gris razón en reflejo con la
naturaleza de la tormenta.
Las épocas solitarias de niños mirando
sollozando y amando la orilla del amarillo centello
del padre, madre y cosmos.
Hoy.
I have felt the temptation to exist
as oblique impressions of black mystery
on the muted mantle of a desert
I have felt the necessity of vanishing –
diving in the diaphanous ocean of death
in search of its currents of agile repose
I have felt the secrecy of the soul
it moves as a needle marking seconds
over the limpid circle of silence
I have felt the province of oblivion
as drops of dawn attached to the crystal
of my eyes when I contemplate – truth.
Beyond Language 
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