I will finish this painting today!
(Or tomorrow)
She is a nude woman asking me for more and more
brush strokes
(Valencia is not in the world
It is a dream city that nobody knows)
- Do you know what the light is?
- White in the darkness
and a Cathedral,
of clay.
 

One finds
invisible colors in the sleeve
a planet equal to zero
a wrong corner,
the least important,
the Sun, that goes back looking at everything
one asks about the death
Who shall love my drunken breath,
who?
 

Pretty woman's eyes
(No pretty woman sees through another woman's eyes)
- Our gravitation will save the world, don't forget it
- Also the illusion climbs a tree, whispering:
"There are good persons in the world.
Beautiful women are praying,
dancing
and making love."
 

In your eyes
Only tiredness
and closed doors
The rain flows from our hearts
hopeless
This noiseless bit of ground never ends
 

Where shall the gods go if they die?
The planets germinate
your menstrual annoyance
Let yourself be mine
I am a nobleman
with red blood:
Let's go tonight to cat around!
 

I will never play again that horse
(of chess)
nor shall I see that smoke,
what a pain!
 

Each species cries its dead
the leaf the fish the water
intimate voice
some winter day
(certain degree of imperfection is perfect)
Through the calm I understand this green, to see you,
ejaculate in you the vertigo the sea the bed
But I am alone below the moon
A drink.
To come back is to go again away,
who knows?
 

In the window
fit
the sun,
a half of the world,
the wind,
traveling from so far.
However,
I can just face the abyss of my shadow
 

rain
thirsty
of tracks
In the night
the trees rise
though the water reflex
beyond all measurable things
 

Some good luck
and below your branches
I shall bet the time
The lilies are born again
still not said
they grow inside
confused
close edge
either in my hand or dispersed
 

Between your bones and mine
never
and ever
wound at the time o'clock,
burning
I am hungry for your lust
breasts
thighs of female dragon
or kneel down poetess
 

This hand is chained to you,
to your latest "u"
I breathe your body
Purr hot!
Then you will go away
The doors sound alike everywhere,
even an abstract farewell
than impressionist:
Enough Vivaldi!
Quaver demisemiquaver minim
ti re do
in fugue
 

I could
build a river
define its course
seed it with fish
I could submerge myself
hidden
dissolved in the water
and later,
the Friday of my life,
a fish that doesn’t even know how to swim
confounds me
 

With ashes of God
the day
comes back home
for dinner
as usual
carrying his chest full of masks
pleasure (pain)
He says the world is a lemon
and squeezes it
 

It is a good age
to seed the heart,
returning from so much grief
The peace is to touch you
while I see the size of the world
Why to say it?
 

I should have told her
"Stay with me,
I am about to understand the world,"
cut clouds
at price of sure and unsure, and true and untrue things
Nobody has a self operating manual,
nevertheless we walk around, breathing life
I really need a piano not to play it.
 

Leave me the scar
of your spilt cats
at noon,
the fate for each one,
almost perfect drop in the wind
shaking the tree,
beautifully down,
as a human being,
or tree being,
drop to be
 

The sky kindles candelabra
I don’t awake anymore in her palm lines
I will paint with her tears
I will clean my brushes with rain water
I will say I was bad by plucking leaves from her garden ferns
I will punish myself with thorns :
I AM FREE!
(Once again she left me)
 

II
JUNIPER STREET
 

TIME
What is preferable, being not born or to have to die?
The time is a lie we name life
while we pry in our entrails
the last and first wish
to not get bored
everyday
we die
bit
by
bit
we die
everyday
to not get bored
the last and first wish
while we pry in our entrails
The time is a lie we name life
What is preferable, being not born or to have to die?
 

-How do you pronounce "margaritas?"
-As if I were drunk
in a very fragile tunnel of love,
or in a different planet,
without belongings,
waiting to find Heaven behind the door
-How would I pronounce "margaritas" if I were not drunk?
 

How far
is to be far away
from the corners where I used to dream!
One has dreams
that become habits
But when one is finally alone,
one learns the insipid flavor of dreaming
without that unique, true love.
 

We ignore the fate,
but we know
how to clean our hands,
how we kiss,
how we are kissed,
the cheap price of our drinks,
while the next page writes
"All is past,
this city,
the other one,
the tenderness, the jealousy,
to pay the rent, to fight, to laugh,
all is past."
 

I am feeling very old, tired, wrinkled.
I would like to change something,
my clothes, my memory
(I don't like to remember,)
the life, the death,
the forbidden loves
always hiding in my canvases,
to say how important you are for me
I call
and I ask,
how to be happy?
Nobody is enlightened,
why?
This violent calm seems a stack of stone clocks
I have to walk through
 

I must give up
to know too much
about the tiny importance of big things,
running behind an almost exhausted life
as a dead leaf sound
or the steps a far train forgets at full speed
 

The friends are leaving,
dying.
Also the family
and the loved women
Only remains the lover
Hence, when the query answers,
it is the time to say the only truth:
Ten and twenty five minutes.
 

III
POEM

 

breeze
does not tire of scratching
its skin among the cactus
The smoke remains nailed to the houses
Our prayer is canticle
where we shall go after raining
 

The dream
I am going thru
looks at itself in all
Each step
has colors
as a cloud of dust
dispersed by the wind
Each one
is one's own measure and reward
This moment is ours just to dream
 

To be time
and say
"come back"
and to come back
from the first world's breath
in this little stone you are looking at
 

Zuggurats
&
war
awake
In Iraq.
Your hands,
wet grass,
surround the air
as fireless thoughts,
with colors and restless flowers
 

heaven
ocean
labyrinth of mirrors
moon
celestial torch
air stone
at the shore my ship hopes
woman's colors in the creation,
other face of the things
damned to pain and love
(nobody mistakes one's breath
None keeps it)
 

seeds of rain
slip among your fingers
The man I inhabit
throws pebbles to the night,
his share of universe and sad water,
as a former day,
a thirsty day
 

The river
is drowning
into bits of sun
murmuring eternal rapture
these desires to live
hurt
as clumps of mud
marine shells
sun that went away by mistake
 

It lacks just one lament to the sunrise,
the latest,
endless.
If I could count one star,
broken mirror,
I would see the morning,
illuminating my soul's flesh
My heart sinks in pain
almost ever
or almost never,
delirious with presages,
eyes,
memory.
 

FULL MOON
This day named today
happens
as a falling down leaf
An instant rains in peace
I fly to you, Loneliness,
to live the full moon with some hope
Serene, serene wind word
The death babbles its lie among the drops
Each beginning repeats
true and not true
and echoes of birds
looking the creation in your eyes
and the aquatic night is prodigal in reflections
Without space
this day, breaking,
runs away
 

Waves
throw scraps
stamp their hands on the air
The worry about the night make us understand
not the pain,
but a tree breaking the space
Roots and flowers feet
Its nudity excites the breeze,
amazes stars
and marine beings
used to any tree, but not this one
With inexpressible rhythm
this tree builds shades,
musical forms with the urban scent,
less cruel this week than the next one
From its divided navel
leaks the latest terrestrial viscus:
Magog, Tubal, Mesec,
their nets full of poisonous beings
for the Sidon's daughter
 

who appears and disappears
while dancing among the Babel's bewitched people
I felt the tree iridescent wings rising up
With the sole feather of its eye
it tore the air, leaving behind
the roofs
and the noisy weapons,
but it got entangled
by the silence
that everybody
pronounced.
 

LABYRINTH
The labyrinth is now in the twisted images curve, below
the door where one could have, stay or not, but never remain
in oneself, gardener of the desert in the mouth of
contaminated and uncontaminated beings, half and half,
always uncomfortable, as a paradoxical fate in the spirit of
the person animal, or animal person, whatever you prefer,
if the noisy cars play motor V8 music while one goes,
whistling, very quietly, to harvest vegetables just in the
freeway divider (God is so good), and then one will dilapidate
the salary in beer (It is so delicious), because one
knows the winner number is so close, its horse foot; as a
docile goat, the miller moves the grindstone symbolizing a
new "ever" against a former "ever", things of life that happen
expected or unexpectedly, even if one takes a drink,
and other, and other, until forgetting the bill, and then one
goes out, converted into firewood, at four a.m., to drive a
car which one has never gotten, but one is a poet, and
around the corner the next bar says "salud!" I love you so
much, Heaven...