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60 %
A little bit of covert and noon became sunset.(Without the glasses,A blurry ball in front of sun)Beyond, further down or up, (according to your mind frame,space has no address);it must have been a sun ringlet of samba move.And the time regained again its nooness with a frozen wind one could very well despise.For the he sun above was there and there it was the sun.The dark shape on the window spying the birds.The fly buzzing and the silence a moment ago, melted into everyday life.One without ado.
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Retrovisor
No… Hacia atrás no.A la derecha y avanza.Reversa.Un poco torcido y… En el guardabarro,Un arañazo de pintura azul.
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Prickly pear oriole
Falling from the tree,Like rose popurrí.Drops of sound, liquid joy.Rain or luck?Hidden yellow shadow. Yellow?Bright sun encased in black frame.And its song raining.Falling from the tree,Like rose popurrí.
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Carpintero
Tac tac tac.Madera.Tac tac tac.Un ojo negro.Tac tac tac.Revuelo.Tac tac tac.Rojo sobre blanco y gritas desde el encino:¡Humano!
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Whip
Drain the nightThe day arrived.Gone the cold.Melted the frost.Yet I wait again.I know it didn’t go.It never does.It flutters by,Caresses to your recoil and…Zaz! The hit.The whip, the sting.
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Of the things I gave up today
Next year?No.Perhaps if I keep trying?No.Maybe with a little magic?No.Numb, numb and numb.I plan but feel like slumbering.I think I might but feel like getting lost in reading.Why am I even typing?Why the need?Said someone.Why the need?I thought too.Will I be brave enough to face the bumping lights?Or am I coward enough to go on zombying like the last ten years of nothing?Don’t mind me.This is just a drama.
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Behind barracks
The sky has become sorta white.Tasteless.Worthless.And it doesn’t matter how bright the stars.My heart can’t beat to their sight.Moon light?Blind.Rose scent?My nose is dead.The touch of a lad?I’m numb to fail.Rise and rise,The smoke.Nothing.Some exiled name from remain,Cause there were records of none.Burnt in the same cage of demise.Cinders behind.Without a teeth brush or shoe to put behind glass.
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Calla
Callando, callando y en serie desdibujando…con un dedo unos labios, el fuego.
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Just a dream
I had a dream.And I wanted to kiss you.It wasn’t true.There’s not even you.
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Looking back
From the mirror,Water from the sky,Wrinkles and spots hidden to sight.A puddle can’t be so true, after all.It’s me and blue, white, blue behind. No one else but the ripples of time.No one else but my eyes looking back.I grew up fond of me.And the reflection did so too.I’ll sing I’m alive.On my own.Maybe the cat.
