Dibujos de cuerpos

puerta abierta: desencuentro de los amantes. 

quemaduras tempranas son flores: miramos una puerta abierta. 

hay ruido de flores: hay puerta de desencuentro: aquí, somos otro mundo. Idea de una caverna para sentir el corazón.

una sombra de abrazo. una sombra proyectada por la luz del fuego sobre el fondo de la caverna. un abrazo de sombra lucha contra el vacío.

una mano enorme llega y Algo comienza.

guerrera y amadora. una mano nacida para padecer mucho de sí misma. una mano comienza, amadora y guerrera,

porque amar es la guerra suprema.

todos encendidos en la sombra. somos desencuentro: guerreros dentro de amadores.

cuerpos dudan del mundo como agua indefinida. 

Ven, aún sin rostro, una mano de fuego, una piedra de fuego líquido, deseante. 

Morir de desear beberte, senos y ríos: mujer.

aquí, un gesto hace atardecer y caer la noche sobre Nada.

otras mañanas deseo para la mano, amadora desarmada, que abrazará senos y ríos, talvez

Aber die Angst!

my blood disagrees with me

the fabric the text the nerve of my telling still burns still smokes still desires the Indefinite Song.

None, One, you are so quiet listening to my trees.

Once upon a time, a birth shall begin within All that trembles and cries out and looks for the forest, the female forest, where the wind blows God in the mouth. Sing my song and pass, the wind is the hour When. 

touching on sad tales

a sad tale compels the mouth of my life course to plunge into the dark blue waters of why and how.

there is. there is not a shark capable of devouring my insomnia of spiraling reasons for why and how to happen. there is. there is not a course, a straight course in the oral suffering of the narrator. And the narrator in pain is me.

I could have and have not. just a fraction of expectation greater than the entire matter of flesh and its contradictory enemies. And that event of flesh in the story is me. but the untexted, unstoried, flesh of gaps greater than nonsense is also me.

the coherent mouth looks for something to tell. none, one, you mature in my dark bliss of sweet silence of panic before dawn. That mouth defines the story and fails, always with an acute delay touching the first breasts, behind the text making love with my delayed fuse. That mouth is in control of life, ever since my touching been touched. first letter. Alpha written in flesh forever, bearing the Possible and the whole country of change