by then
i had crossed
the reason
language was tender
naive and insipid
i was beginning to write
verse
with motion
perspective
a salving madness
i began asking
for the drop
to steal
heaven
a spark in the horizon
a mission
a long-drawn laughter
after the joke of life
had been exposed
it was with all the things
we came to know
that i crossed
the sadness
at last
alone
by the emptiness
of the road.
something set me loose
abrupt and cryptic
sailing in a medium
that infuriates me
headway headway
progress is like a precipice
i knew about the rocks
long before my pessimism
took over
corroding the oars
my bores
counted like stars
yawning as naturally as breathing
boat body bodhisattva
drowning in the air
sinking in the blood
world me (mindless) me world
nothing is so big and cavernous
so ingrained
in occult emptiness
within the rising steam
of hot silence
the anchor
the destiny
simultaneously my hunger
the greasy milk of the sea
fattening the grand course of solitude
scraping against the seabed
slowing the haste
the waste
a motion brave and stupid
pushing me like a vessel
of filament
farther further away
from the goal of existence:
stillness
cold descended
I believe in it
feel like I need it
surrounding me like icy mesocarp
preserving me small
and latent inside
like a rugged seed
of rage.
If I could do something
with this mess inside
do something similar to what snow
does to the argentine sky
constellating it with the falling
flakes of a weeping
chaos
I would be swarming
with zigzags of pleasure
and pain
collapsing under the weight
of
chance
then whatever remains
would melt
find the lowest cavity
of my dirty soul
and stagnate,
quietly
so quietly
dying
down
there.
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
age
a film of thaw
rosy tender flesh
your perfect target
agonic wine deadly aim
by the non-appearance closer
logical surrender instance of essence
point drop angular arpeggio by the moon
eye eye
oh
human
form around the cellar
by side raised younger
lost in the sympathy of quivers
tingling by the mindwake of emptiness.
and so it was,
poetry: a deliberate madness
serene, thoughtful, full of strange distances
hanging names on the limbs of details
giving sound a place to rest
all things visited from sidelong silences
things: worshipped and often obscuring
the sudden flight of city birds
exactly because my sight was bolted
to that eerie spasm of the sky
the spaces neglected for the general purpose
of a somnolent rain
I speak: world
in order to feel: existence
the challenge of light and above all ideas
pulverized movement near disfigured events
dates as calmly as pulsations
inventing, attempting, redefining
something that enters the invaded dream
the inundated reality that spears me.
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
This hand full of fire from banana field
sliding down your waistline sliding
touching like a hungry hermaphrodite
asking asking is there anyone down there
by the knee or the thigh or the swollen clit
sliding down with chords playing from rooftops
sliding down like a sunset high on trumpet
groping grabbing pinching scarring
this hand full of fire
reversing the course of utopia
this hand so strong irreversible
coming down on you
like freedom rain at 2am
this hand robbing you
taking away your last cents and songs
this hand aching for love that is not red
this hand losing one finger at a time
aging like the smoke at the end of tobacco curls
this hand empty
still touching and sad
this hand going down
holding your navel as burning bullet
this hand a tool
the tool
this hand
the last possession
a hand surface
sliding down to the earth
no contact yet
this baneful hand
raw, skinless
no glove
covering this
hand
no course handling
this hand
that came, saw and conquered
the mighty land
I feel love
in the
monologue
backside to esernisy
my forever
never ending
illiterate quest
ssssiziszling
thru
order
of greater er er er magnitude.
Beyond Language 
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