The heroes, or the emission.
happiness and earthquake
the sound soars
blindly behind curtains
of my perception
there are pieces
that I have forgotten
about myself
like the blackened scar
of shell beneath a foot
in morbid beach
reality?
a beauty.
insufficient
recently creating
the drug that fixes me
there have been lauds
highly articulate sources
floundering as brush stroke
in broken verses
to age!
furthermore
alive heavy with struggle
and purely irresolute.
careless evenings
youth, dream, iron
with a fossilized joy in my face
I put on the chains
to await bitter destiny
it is freedom
far beyond art
it is an activity with no ideal
that I pretend to know
one day the hand that writes
transforms into rock
rock turns into sand
and that sand prolapses
into nothing
and a silent
gaze
is vestige
of vacuous past
in that haste
of a gamble
I fooled around with desire
noise and love,
reckless towards
the assemblage
of oblivion
en su cueva
donde dormía
volcando el deseo
en un cráter de inactividad
era una añeja paz
convocando los ojos
a ver el mundo como
arbitrario detalle
la noche
que pinta todo azul
y el cometa que choca
contra el humo del
corazón
con voluntad de isla
dormía en su cueva
volcando la ambición
en un charco de vapor
al objetivo
que se siente
ser pez natural
en mar de sueño.
If we become survivors
the elect few
to renew the significance
of toil and dream,
if we are the last
two Rimbauds in lands
of shadow and cave,
what message will be engraved
in the red clay of poetry,
will we bring the knife close to earth
carving steep heavens in the surface of rock?
La sangre tremenda
de piel a ley
el monumento de piedra
colmado de augurio en la soledad
de un silencio campesino;
la muerte ha pasado como un invierno
sobre las capas secas de las semillas
ha dejado una noticia amarilla
en la tierra,
hay algo impregnado con ímpetu
algo con sombra de ciclo
de nombre antiguo
removiendo
los destinos
de la raza.
far
this film
phantasmagorically alive
the wave is sensuous motion
a cusp of existence inwardly
joy by another name
in perishable lands of laughter
my child, you are born
and fiction begins
blood recedes as pound of music
descending cutting the cello in two
life drips as the dawn flower meant to pray
the cry is yours, crossing the sphere
of music tenderly
as a desire
of light.
He visto el mar,
piélago azul como si hojas de árboles
fueran olas en el agua estancada, donde pienso,
donde soy, recluso y alienado.
He mordido la tierra
con dientes entre sus arenas
las rocas eran de dureza espacial,
mi región, costado, rincón:
incapaz.
He navegado en la nota,
circuito de eco, rayo de música
quieta, resignada, tendida ahí
junto al inerme cuerpo
de mi pasión.
He sido noche
la seré siendo, replica
de sombra en el ocaso
cuando nace el deseo
de no desear nada
más.
no denuded word
for a world red, wounded
illusory in fire enamel
there are aspects of silence
faces with incomprehensible signs,
my hand played a part
a solitary sound
traveling with the shadows
of hour
all the mountains of ash:
distantly
roaring
