Arzzczz

I was some eyes in a night that got lost.

Sometimes
the dreams run in the body without fear.

Sometimes
because of the cold, bees and ants die...

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Arrive early
so that the next day does not leave
without building the silver threshold
through which all that ends passes.

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Easier things like observing the stars in the clear December sky while mom takes her pills for the pressure, stress, and that dry cough that has been clinging to her throat for days.

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Abstract things like a frozen yellow river crossed by dead hours of blue velvet bordering the infinite waist of universal harmony.

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An empty cup bathed in sunlight.
Smell of winter on a Tuesday.
The red light that flickers before the green.
Today, it is not the anxiety of the coming time in the heartbeats,
it is the empty root that cleaves the smile;
it is this elusive rhizome that wilts despite not existing

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Era gentle wave

the clouded footprints of pain

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Remember my name
because the dark part of the heart
will make you dream of the forest of burning hope
and among the flames the yesterdays will die
where you imagined an idyllic and satisfying present future.

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What is that light that seeps into my bed?

Surely someone has the answer (many surely do), but the wet and burning sex like a peeled tangerine in the middle of a dust storm that pulls the afternoon from the roof of the house and moistens the cool muzzle of the same skinny cat that meows and purrs in the painful heartbeat of longing and desire because you cannot overcome the rough doubt of the correct word to express the most tangled question of guts, heart, and lung that you have had until today and all these light and happy years (do not evoke that Thursday or that March of fasts and tears, do not wander through the memory of childhood or impure youth..., it has been so long since you wanted to merge with the dust, forget that dark voice and those wounds that have neither scar nor image in your past, there is no longer doubt in your voice)

Was that the blow here,
that buried nail
and the lost blood?

There is no scar, only skin on skin.

Skin today and tomorrow to eat the tangerine

and then,
what was the light?

You do not know and it is better this way,
it is better this way...

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Who has [nobody]

(you have lost so much and so soon
the parts of another voice)

that light that is born from two [maybe more]

(face in me, burning in me, need in me) abysses that devour each other [you do not]

(not to you, never to you)?

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I always wanted to flood you,
I am sincere but the moon loved me stillborn.
And it is valid that you do not think the same
as Charly García.
You do not like the defects of the body.

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Remember my name
that you left stuck on those autumn leaves that the wind carried to the city sewers.

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Remember my name
now
that my blood thinks of you
while your blood swirls
among the clouds and the sand.

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It will be a good morning.
It will hasten a wrinkle and a forgetting
in my smile.

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You are alone.
The ship of love has run aground in the stars
and like a crazed castaway
you seek the company of the moon once more...

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In the search, I am
of an existence
to recharge mine
in it,
with it.
And to smile together at dusk
with the harmony of the remainder
that from two
makes us
one.

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I will call you one of these nights. Perhaps my call will seem strange to you, perhaps you have been waiting for it. You will accept to see me "her talk has never been too bad, maybe it improved a bit over the years", you will think. I will wait for you there, lovingly breathing the afternoon. I will think of the first words to say to you, I will think of kissing you, I won't be able to hide my anxiety for more than 25 minutes. Suddenly you will arrive and smile upon seeing me... we will recognize each other once again, we will be us again and only us. After having a drink, we will make love. We will breathe in the arrival of the night, agitated. We will laugh with tiredness and affection for nothing, for everything...

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Inside there are strange sounds that the brain tries to decipher. Heartbeats and gasping. The veins carry something else, another substance that is similar to blood, but is not blood, it is an amalgam of demons, sins, mistakes, and pleasures.

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Wanting everything sometimes is too much.
I thought of waves crashing against you
(like torrential rain, I thought).
On the true sand, everything is lost.
Does desire determine the worth of people?
There is an incalculable value in desire,
but desire fades from our veins,
and when in other mouths you hear the song denied to yours,
you discover that although it may not be easy for you,
it is for someone else.

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The night slows down its sane beats, but the night also stimulates death. You do not speak with the fairies or with the demons, each time you hear their voice less. Something falls and in the distance, the wind can be heard.

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I am how many words God sang
in the yolk of nothing.

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