Le he robado
un minuto
una viscosa
soledad
del vino
he tomado
la libertad
de mentir
adentro del verso
de fingir pétalos
en la verga
seca
de mi tristeza
he liberado
tantos engaños
a escondidas
de mi
ebriedad
¿son versos?
meramente
lágrimas
y siglos
una indómita
lentitud
y sobre todo
crueldad.
I bite their existence
like a damned fruit
I sit at their bar
built for other drunks
that didn’t come
half around the world
to sit
simply there
it is their smells
their unkempt mustaches
the long borrowed smiles
the occasional spill
I tuck away in my thoughts
their paper-thick laughs
like wasted napkins
with doodles and debts
I pluck their noise
keep its seed
their game
is my
mirror.
I begin
to
approach
you
with a scarcity
of words
a simple
symbol:
snow
contains
the entire mode
of your
being.
hay noches
una tras otra
donde paso tomando
un trago o dos
no mucho,
lo suficiente
para mirar fijamente
a lo negro,
al translúcido oscuro
que el cielo estrena
noche tras noche;
son tragos de paciencia
son lapsos de humildad,
soy yo
solo y ebrio
escuchando esos misterios
que pasan rociando belleza
detrás de la inmensidad.
behind windows
I tend
to imagine
truth
to exist
much like the
beauty
that no one ever
visited
or the eternity
that time
misplaced
behind windows
not much
needs to happen
for
life to sway
like a dizzy
white speck
of
bliss
vida
imposible
como el sonido
del sabor
que se derrite
sobre la lengua
del pensamiento
todo lo que toco
se empieza a disolver
como superficie
rodar como
onda del olvido
que atraviesa
lo que
sucede
era ruido
tu amor
a la
verdad
huelo
el rastro
de una idea
que me recuerda
del aroma
de esta
soledad
It feels good
not being an artist
no language to impress
philosophical thoughts on cheese
a bit guilty of the next beer
depleting bank account
it feels good
to walk on snow
so crisp and pure
drinking the next beer
getting drunk
and all the rest
it feels good
to see the snow
fall
my cold breath
dunking beers
and all the rest
if feels good
to have left Berlin
now just a town drunk
not even a
punk
This is my chance
to render existence
beautiful, justify it all
this is my chance
to leave a mark
in the thicket of irrelevance
that encircles life
this is my chance to create a gem
of poetry and longing
the universe
I see
is but a sketch
an attempt
the purest game
miracle comes in between
the things that are by chance real
I love its
magic
I am touching
the soul with silence
– that art thou
stargazing the mind
this is my chance
to suffer
the wisdom of solitude
my only voice
to reach out
to
you
Será hoy
que pasemos horas
sentados
viendo una flor,
no porque es una flor –
de eso no podemos estar seguros –
sino porque finalmente
nos percatamos
que cualquier otra hazaña
sería en vano.
Bang your brain against this sentence
spill your guts so I can mummify your fucking
lie
we’re in control
only you
purely you
guess from where I come from;
studying your antics
form this
tendency to resist or challenge authority (sic)
do we ever control
the wave
that crushes us
in the
end?
Beyond Language 
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