looking kneels Pen ink hidden land ,
blue perfume dumb rock dissolved in the blood, dust
was not released,
navel of a spontaneous abortion as art of an arrow that missed its target ...
All this is not said,
to the eyes of the blind are two cactus
he muses opened
drinking the warm tears of oblivion dungeon
cuffed semantic words sadistic
that builds our shadow as a shadow castle of cards.
And on streets that silenced the touch of my feet that are just looking for a trace,
footsteps orphan inheritance rammed my past concave and convex
pretensions pendulum of a clock without
area because I am a drawing compass
square in the belly of your voice mining.
My bait is this omelette of sand and lime
as flares on offshore
nothing I can offer in this swamp of liquefied
eyes that this bunch of grapes imaginary
who know me and only me ...
drilling in the wilderness I
to hang a painting by Magritte
and replace all the walls for murals,
bricks not see anywhere,
or only when the tapestries uproot
because we try to tear
nails because we are convinced that false false
such as green eyes twice the risk
the actor that does not go over the scene.
Even when locked in this shell of voices
ventriloquists and even if the final point to finish a panoptic structure
do not hold back from filing the prison bars of the verse from the inside,
even this blink you will not exist for a second
force you to be populated by the ghosts of others to be
sarcophagus behind several shovels of dirt.
Stand under the doorway of any room
because I feel a tremor, a roar of healed scars
soil and after the earthquake can enter the library and steal books and poets
reciting will break the silence that fills you,
deconstructed the poet as the blank in another language,
locking themselves in the labyrinthine corridors of his desires.
And when you close the book bury the breath of someone from another century,
who loved other women, who saw him die other friends,
who dreamed someone to read, never knew that was translated.
Our duty is to write up a flower
rule in the heart of the dummy
and throw petals ordered
yesterday but still remains stuck in a prostitute orgasm
is a well non-oil and honey,
scream and although these pores do not know what to say ...
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