smoke touches brain
neurosis and all
have you seen it curl
like neurons thinking of clouds –
yes clouds are always in my mind
life is so barren of poetry
that the only word
that saves me is
CLOUD
a single
puff of shredded tobacco
cold in the lungs
a wild uproar of vapor
in the skyline of
awareness
There was only a narrow slit
left between these eyes,
to survive and nowhere else?
the prospect was a sort of madness
somewhere in that peninsular solitude
my lands would become addicted to dreams
with half-shut eyes, looking out
attempting
as vaguely as objects are
or the motes of continuance;
these visions were freed as wealth
in sinister currency,
the mind is sleep
these eyes drugs
hello
expanding monuments
with the last man
sober in your
granite
resembling
an arching
thick empty
emptiness
to touch
delve
finger a surface, an edge
wallpapered walls
to touch
and let the rest
be beyond me
I have to get away
from poetry
need to stop
focusing on the
details and the needlework
of perception
need to live the gross
average
collision course life
of the
rest
need to rediscover
minutes
as meaningless
traps
need to make routine
again an instinctive
straightjacket
need to somehow
buy a house
and stock it up
with liquor
need to begin
worrying
about that silly
little race
that goes by
the name
of
happiness.
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
This site features some of my poetry (including quite a bit of juvenilia), early works in art and photography; among other productions of bliss & despair.
Browse below to read my latest poetry both in English and Spanish. Or quickly jump to modern art paintings, photography, and existential quotes that have inspired me.
©2008 – 2026 Pablo Saborío
All that I prophesy
is the way the world
spirals unto itself
there
space and dream
hibernate into consciousness
the product of my speech
is the withdrawal of meaning
in words
from reality to possibility
multiplying the interior
by tearing asunder
every perception
into further
fragments
ultimately
I have noise
as fur over the idea
of myself
beauty
sideways to phenomena
precipitates
towards the pinpoint
of my
heart
Modern Poetry Blog
Too many steps too drunk
an outsider
infatuated
with the outside decadence
a 30-day-old poet
taming his extinction
grasping for existence
breathing the sidewalks
as an addiction
calling street life
the pulp of everything
right here
civilization as a theory
the grid of rebellion
on this Rorschach
while the chanting epochs
intoxicate us
with their
darkness
in the streets
in the steps
of drunken
us.
The iris
expands
way beyond
the circumference of light itself
that stare you give me
makes my skin
rockhard reptilian
immersion is your talent
deluge as dissatisfaction
till I drown from inertia
your heart is a fish
in the reddest sea
my bait is saline love
your iris is a flying saucer
abducting my hope
nothingness is two feet away
but I’m afraid to look
in this sad world of ours
eyes should have been
history’s greatest revolution.
That I must use language
to describe an unusual event
which was anything but words
makes my task already
futile
but I will communicate
the strange braid of emotion, perception and thought
that made that moment possible
as I was standing
at the end of a sidewalk
a piece of, what it seemed like,
a poster
was stuck to the ground
and an outreaching extremity
hanged over the miniature precipice
between the sidewalk and the gutter
this limb of paper
this appendix of matter
fluttered in the wind
and I felt as if standing above
a slice of eternal existence
flapping under my very feet
a small, oblique, strand of whatever
moving in sequences
that would make
me believe
in
beauty.
Beyond Language 
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