Lovers
Never are near
Of the other
Dream and communion
peeping
Ghosts walking alone
As stars spying
sealed drawers
We always expect
the barking lovers
cry
The disastrous finitude
while the exploiting worms gnaw inside the seed
of the sun
with empty eyes
water cradle of  rocks
Until the unsuspecting heaven
with its porous moss
charm sirens of fearsome eyes
That kiss without ease
The desperate heart
Hopelessly entwined with all

In the street the amorous disasters
On the street my tiny forces
In the street the dead pigeons
In the street muddy gods
In the street the legs look stern
On the street my wishes overthrown
In the street my paradisiacal trees
In the street of sugar ants
In the street  my modern loves
In the street  the night lifted
In the street  the mists dispel
In the street the shadows
In the street I terrified
In the street tiny wonders
On the street my arms for trunks
In the  street deserted photos
On the street mendacious walls
In the street always diffuse
In the street names do not dress
In the street armed outside
In the  street ****** trees
In the street biased eyes
In the street

Nothing in your hands
I do not know what to tell you
but they are the sailing waters
and the spontaneity of your feet
When the Sun and death
haunt my waking
in this table of carbon
lust the finger lifts
and you imagine me
undone by half
but the world turns
and its delights embark on the migration
to my eyes of plant
waiting for the time of morning bath
your feet revolve with the tenderness of the foam
they ride into the roof of my house
and read Peret
love comes
as a bug
While you are distracted with the mouth
and those lips that passionately
crash each other
the violence of the clouds
are my land

pain travels in front of us
I have pursued it in your breath
from the first ray that pounded
the Earth
in the awakening of the stones
and the birds
hunger appeared
in  the beautifully useless walks
through those avenues

While the snow created flakes
to unleash the fury of the fire
at your feet I settle
sweetly
bathed and satisfied

The mention of a purple eye
Residing in your ****** which awaits
Like a small window resting on my neck
Desires nothing more than all the screams
Of a deserted city after a bomb party
You silenced the almighty reason
With a proper wink and the blessing
Of an accidental discovery
And yet the horns will remain
Guarding the temple of your
Niple

You are a rocket straight to destruction in the midst of the opportunists you rise and fall to see the newspapers even if you think them the most horrifying aspect of pieces of meat you start to revolt, the **** will end up flying like a circus without turns and faults, magical like the curtains of my bed turning the atmosphere into a dragon mystery lake for children to play the forest and the knick knacks of their desires, but lo! Here comes the banker and the financier all galloping on tamed mechanical horses advancing with Colgate smiles disappearing your face and stealing your persona and your trousers made from cotton, synthetic cotton absurd cotton love cotton fear cotton waiting for you at the train station taken away to Europe where models eat a turnip and a peanut in your face to ***** lace and pepper dine in the shape of a paper centaur coming to avenge with his wooden sword the mess of intelligence and progress, he has waged war many times over, he lost, he disappeared in the shape of a blender for misunderstood poets and hoes of freedom talking about moving to the right direction assuming you will never rise up like a fountain in Rome and jalapa, but here, you and me never talking anymore in front of garbage smelling to the top of the Latin American craps with an antenna submitting your insides to the cops and the lawyers, credit to the banks for terror and the hand that wipes his forehead, you and only me can replace V with a string of fire and music to tremble a few notes into the ears of this country never to again see mommy or daddy, neverness is your dream but as I said you and I are not talking anymore, give me a line, a cane, a flame, a candle for company, cause if you are there and I here then poetry can move as a lightning rod on an airplane crushing giants with the swift ****** of business class, yes you and I will do a match in the toilette, you read and I spit on the floor to make it more comfortable will invite a few *******, two dry and a few (three) filled with milk and cottage cheese for the magazine model to strangle the last temptation on earth. Mooove on
Darling, death comes our way in the middle of the mass as the greasy mullet under the gutters, yes be content with all that money saved up for a better time, to spend on gas bills and rental hair, hands and hearts. It is coming silently.
The new music-

the flies sleep
the POPes fall
stares and incense
water as a Firefly
climbing
dreams
and bites
lying down women
the scared child
*** chairs
honeyed ****
the Coco box
and sustained meals
used oil
molden hands
the erectile *****
with its cursed spring
the blind of the underground
tremble like leaves
mosquitoes
the endless war
for conformity reasons of
intense sentimentality
the juices from my waste
and waste
together as butter eyes
look for the lock
skins and commas
they come up and sit
where are the atoms?
the formulas
that is not a complaint or a
wet towel waiting
the laughter of ***
and happy *******
nails that do not
spend liars aloud
death does not rest
newspapers
newspapers
good to make a fire
is not necessary
to name them
delete all written in the
last three lines
and the simple duplicity of the intelligent
and their hopes of importance
When this ends or Announces
like fans in the Sun
the amendment continues
inexorable asphyxia
burn, rises as one
exquisite betrayal of the senses
the look and the perception
unfold within the bed
filled with needles in terrible ways
as vanity that passes
near avenues and springs
It does not defile
or attack the beasts
resting like a mountain
sacred mirrors
and the ghosts that spit
two stones
just to shake your lungs
and they are regarded as a
wall of the snot
devouring
air and Sun and rain and dreams

Yo other

This ache
Mittens of ****
To blow

Can only talk about themselves, how they feel and think, the latter and the former are only filters of marketing and sales,  hypnotized to believe in self and the importance of you, uncle. Suicide is not allowed therefore poetry suffers a great deal, clean beauty using ****** words does not make a poem. Amerixans have more upper case words than any other planet in the milky Way, Internet, April and May together with defending us from zombies and aliens, the author has become as nasty as a rag after mopping *****. There is no escape from amerixan way of life, they will sell you one.

I do not know what to tell you
but they are the sailing waters
and the spontaneity of your feet
When the Sun and death
haunt my waking
in this table of carbon
lust the finger lifts
and you imagine me
undone by half
but the world turns
and its delights embark on the migration
to my eyes of plant
waiting for the time of morning bath
your feet revolve with the tenderness of the foam
they ride into the roof of my house
and read Peret
love comes
as a bug
While you are distracted with the mouth
and those lips that passionately
crash each other
the violence of the clouds
are my land

pain travels in front of us
I have pursued it in your breath
from the first ray that pounded
the Earth
in the awakening of the stones
and the birds
hunger appeared
in  the beautifully useless walks
through those avenues

While the snow created flakes
to unleash the fury of the fire
at your feet I settle
sweetly
bathed and satisfied

In the same loveless floor
An astute mare
              Begins to chew on nightly
                  Pains
Mine as well the bone
               Of past joy
      Oh! the lovely mare
   I once saw
                 When love was all and none
            In you're liquid lust flesh
                hair of death
lonely pale
                     Night of veil alike
     Distant tree my soul
             Shall never see thee
                    Again
Ever ever more
                             thy sleep
             Shall end like a bent
               Elongated Neck

I guess old age is not
Collecting SS in the street
Beggars go with pesos alone
And I drift in my car
Into a parking lot
With a sealed stamp 4 pesos to
Let me out
Wrinkled faces with a plastic cup
Its a hellish life we lead
Expanding our qualms
Move slow slow slow
Old age will come

The washer of my soul can no longer subside with the idea of having a sleep that dreams of all the members from the machinery of the sandalistic escape from acccaaaaccaaave said the man with the embarrassing look a look created by the style of hiding their embarrassment, but the ridicule lady knew better, embarrassment is for assess who swallow assess before diner and behave like so but when it comes to the destiny of a badly eaten pear not a single soul trembles at the thought of remembering their childhood, because my friends, the pear never decided to be there in the first place.

There was an empty room
Deserted
With a pack of camels laying next
To the dust
Reminded me of me
Of some other me
And the image of a crowded street
Sunny
Moving silently on a yellow light
There was no crying or laughter
Slowly moving
Nowhere in a slight peaceful coming
There was me
In all and of all
to see no more
To feel no more
Laugh no more
In the light of a soft cushion of the street
There were neither angels nor zephyrs
A plain dream presented
The first seen things returned without form, building and falling
A strange nostalgia for the future
And the lack of time remaining
Traveling further into myself
And the chatter of the job
Unstoppable deformation
With its careless activity
Erased death from the face of the earth
No wide eyed glaring at the mythical sky
Where immortality grew like a child
Crawling out of mud
Death imagined
Death and the levitating power of the dream
Around every object seen

I never associate the plane with a hammock
The interest of my belly wins over any such
Discussion which might inevitably turn into sorrow
But, and I speak only for the asphalt, will
Innegably show disrespect to the other functions of the brain
Which astonishes me when it wants to sleep or take an independent
Walk
through the staircase of your lap
But if your lap denies the welcoming blood
Think of the shadow preserving human thought
And immediately
Imprudently all cities might fall inspite of all false pretexts
                 your leg is the salvation of man and his cubic head
You are me in the belief of nothing but pleasure
Of the heart and eyes, of the polished sword
Of the mighty octopus clinging to your mare
Of a highly anticipated degree of fresh air
Liberty draws attempts to carry all carcasses
Like a candle
Or a pill to sleep.

I, who did not want to see
nothing but clouds
predicting already
A snow storm
I was full of snow
Without going to school
In Mexico City
Snow?
cries the Director
Get into your class room
And stop seing clouds!
Cirrus were the guilty
For my scolding
The snow never came
The clouds passed ... ... ...
like grammar
about
My head
Clouds that can only be seen
by those who do not study
One day, I remember
I left my chair
Full of ****
the teacher did not let me go to the bathroom

Shadow kisses

Take Flight wings

In endless pursuit

Wind foam creating

Gods bound in time,

biting lips

Surrounding the cracks where

breath becomes liquid

between the legs

nose hand and voice


Electric and primitive

strong desired leaf

The city body of life,
exalts despite its faults.
Wall
battlefield
****** love
on a street that does not
know of cigarette buts,
a car passes and fireflies sigh
darkness without a shadow
rockets with a thirst for ****** *******,
disappearing as a
reflection of the horse that brings
Furies
lovers
        walls of this street
similar chasms
They bend to the value of poverty,
        walks on this crowded
Avenue of death,
you will see guts shaking
in the mirror of the morning.

if there is anything that can give me
joy
my heart laid bare and a thin
hair of your ***
but better yet it is to try
try never minding reasons
why
that is the prize

It’s simplicity
Its cradle and skill
Evil in bed
Disturbs your conscience

Born worthless
No miracle there
In delightful fast
Storm holds its vine
Selling naught
Desiring naught

Its words
     Sounds
Its actions
        Gestures
The beast fears naught
Unknowingly knowing
Swollen senses
Glorious aliment
For a crooked tree

Its breast bends
Its hands bends
Insults are loves
Wars and artifacts
Antechamber of death
And says naught

Not one will remain
      Responds
Not one will prevail
      Responds
Your dust will be eaten
By democratic worms
Of all brothers
Despised by all

Beasts fears naught
Nor life nor death
Who says?
Who comes?
Who goes?
The breeze only alone

Eternal
White on white
Atop the dead walks
A single hair of grass
Grows, lives dies
Beasts do not share terror
             Abounds in its symmetry

Without choices
Alone as the lone sun
That from three stars
                 It hangs
Empty and nothing more
All perishes
Something In the middle there
Alone Only

Embracing the extremes
The beast has been a beast
Over million a trials
And even then, nothing in the middle there
But the seen
Growing to naught
Perishing in naught

Beasts
Aware of this not
As ornament the imprint
Of its fiery tenure

Blacmanmaba calimbrrrta
Hrow hrow hrow
Trrrrim bambarrrum blacmamaba
Brrrumbabaclingata
Clingata
Clingata
Trapumbin
Blagabo­n
Blagabon
Brrrum bablank

So you say elephants don't fly
Or that malice was a brute
Out of a cave
But I still adore your legs
Even If you snore while caressing
My belly
Then I go for another line
A beer
And scream out the window
You in bed showing those legs
Dreaming about whales and foam

and drops come as if the twilight of a love
from observing a roach
this particular night spent
as a locust or a miriad of intermitent desires
my blue is as usual present
no pleasure felt no more
in the border on infinite space i dwell
to not being a drop for all eternal sound
myriad window and a sigh we echo
only the prize to follow in the lonelly road
finding nothing but "i'ss" I I I followed by I

My anonymity covers the case of my lost steps when you think of me

How much lack of accuracy between two desperate hearts when marching without weapons

invent your feeelings
There is
no beauty unless need
rules your soul
she does not care about your sincerity
identity bored as a  ****** on a rainy night
your will is nothing but fancy fooled
lie to yourself
as much as you can feel
what is not there
to set the forrest
in flames
you are nothing
but a perpetual repetition of fate

If I burn my boat, there will be no more
If I sail with my hands
there will be nothing left
If I walk around a brick
my heart will be lost
and if my heart gets
lost
I will find chance
where the sails fail
the hands steal
and I go far
as far as the castle
coming to my dream
holding a piece of silver
and the cloud
to the mountain
the deer will come
then my life will be
gone
and I will sail
with no cloth
just a hand full of hope
and in each finger
there will be a drop of blood
with all the joy
and all the pain
sailing in front of me
holding the scale
with a big mast and a hammock
instantly folding and dreaming
on this land
that it is I

There was a time of brute force
Where a poet was the beast
And a woman the evil cry
All made song all pagan glow
Bul Lo the mistress of hate
On a carriage she came
Preaching respect over a river
trully made of blood
With floating dismembered flesh
Carrying a song
Now it is all a desease
What humans feel
Remember what cruelty is
Kind complex mind

Our most misterios beings are dead
You are formidable
And with wings from the other site
Will begin to rot
Like the malady if love

Be not your self
There is naught
So and sow
Be not yourself
Like a timeless moon
And drink to my fervent
soul
My flesh and bones

One loves only ghost,
So that ****** said
she left their children
to meet with her love
He left early one morning
to cross th'border for a job

In a letter written
With pen and paper
he told her so

with two children.
Hungry without food
The kids with grandparents
      she was on the run
After her ghost

I met her in a brothel
with sadenned voice
As she put on her dress
       It is a ghost
whom you just ******
Nothing ..........
I say or seem
Has reality but
In a dream

The Tomb did not wake
Upon the arrival of the muse,
Her ******* sounded
ample and modulated
But the tomb kept silent- strange
thought the muse
This is where My husband
Was buried

Dilettante my love my wine
How many are you in there
How your young mind
Grows to disgust of finished things
All are one so never to be done
All are you so never to be one
Dilettante of everything
All the dreams of dreams asleep
For never to accomplish
What another man dreams
Dilettante of it all
Pleasurable being
That simply waits for sleep
and it never truly comes
Eyes, on cupboards and melted cheese
As useless as a broken
ball
The cloud is you're thing
The cloud and the grass
The grass
The grass

I stayed at home, thinking
I needed time to do some thing
Artistic
But since I am not an artist
It started raining,
and I took a cab
To see my girl and
Her two lovely children
My kids
at the library
My daughter was playing with the books
on the floor
My son screaming
Dad
Dad
Dad
With his three year old voice
the very serious people looked at
My son
And wondered where the **** is
His dad
The noise the noise
I am trying to concentrate!
And I appear with my 6 feet four
Carrying my daughter
My flower in bloom
radiant like A firecracker on lonely nights
My son started giving DVD’s to all the people
Around us
He made a mess
My daughter was tossing cookies at the floor
There must have been an interesting
Animal feeding on cookie crumbles

Children really know how to behave
When we left
Boredom fell again over their heads
Consuming knowledge

All death means nothing or at least
Not much
My death, yes mine alone
The bones and flesh
Eaten and polished
Worms flirting with lost knowledge
My bones and an apple tree
Death saw me last night
It will be swift, she said.

I'll miss Street signs

of all the sand and the rage
there is only one cause
to be either an elephant or a dog
the silence creeps on bad writers
I alone stiffen the rod to heaven
not a believer but in a certain gods
who played the fields and ****** hard
humans and animals alike
a sort of cruel joy
we moderns **** but its all we've got
bark and **** and eat dream
you can only be sad
strength to raise up every day
to see ugly faces with ugly jobs
and ******* preoccupations
where is the passion crime?
Ah my left arm for a solid love
bed and drink and be left alone

my dear little heart walked through the grass and the dessert among tigers of flames and blue mist as if the fire was embracing the moon pulled by the red dispersing clarity of my nose, when the clouds arrived the fire extinguished, the hair became mist and my little heart laughed, it is so small, so very small like a moth trapped inside a seed lamenting with the sun, and walked the river and the mountain soon to disappear, soon to condense the elements and the stones, who were laughing for the last time, and my heart grew even smaller, even fainter, until it stopped laughing and beating, here and there with me as my eyes, clear as the droplets that stained my hat, became silent. fear left with a table full of promises with gifts of fame and gold, my simple soul became dim and dimmer and as dimmer as a floating feather came the weak serpent with a frog inside her belly the frog spat on my face and all the crosses and thorns ripped out of my skin, and all the prayers became fog and smoke, and my tongue received a gift poisoning my belly, and then I saw the three stars from the blind gods; everything became still.

A good-looking tree informs my visit
a simple minded man rolling my feet
soil dressed by
wet moss
And the horns of the city
In the silent totality  
like the laughter of the street
Boys of infinite wisdom
Eyes turned into nothing
Setting their glaze on the prize
The Mound living soundly as a weeping caress You live in here
You were born into this The lines of hell
The waiting hours
The desperate flies
hanging as to disappear And  yet
How laughable it all is and her pair of legs Coming out of there
Like an insult to
cornered souls
In the neverness of it all
Men delights to see fallen men
Delight on horrors yet
what little do they know
when an empty
Glass picks at their Strings
And run away to see other men fall

When the flowers are close to the bearded truck, get a gun and shoot in the eye of your desire

Find a safe spot to hide and start a dream, being in a dark room is the safest bet, do it even if you have to dream while going to work, otherwise, enter the cinema and choose a boring movie (a comedy will suffice). Don't sit near the alley. Also, flatten the seats; sleep while sitting can be a disaster. If you have the stem of a tomato, smell it to dream in color. Be sure to start with the most irrational mental image possible!
Turn your body to the right so that the left side of the brain drains the blood to the right hemisphere. Before the real dream starts, be sure to say to you, "I want to change my soul".

I had a blister
As fading from life
Not a single drop fell
From our cheeks

Think to the bone
The world and me
Salt an myrtle behind
A screen to the gods

Of all the crap
you see hear and taste
a pair of legs walked down
the bus
at the Morelos station
the rest
is *******
coming from people
who have never contemplated
the soul of desire

under the bridge she walks
all the light
became real
for a moment
I felt alive

Cheating so loved the truth that once began a flood of letters that fell into the river ***

the void of loneliness
lurks like a ghost at home
in my self
let it come and stay for a while
it will give you strength
to receive joy
strength to live as a man
it is an escape valve for feeling
real feelings to cry and clean
all the emptiness of humanity
modern man does not want to feel
truly stupid
that is sad to know
just sit and let it come
welcome it
there is more truth in sadness than
in all the stuff you find in machines
know it
let it cook in you... slowly
it is love
and the acknowledgment
of your humanity

Love needs to be re-invented to slay the material from which a new form will  spring.

You stuck a needle
of cheap material
You were probably alone
As things that grow in the rain
And I wonder
what you've felt
If to your rescue one of these poets came
those sentimentalists you knew by heart
those delicate revolutionaries

But your hoarse voice will allways
sound
around the trees of my head

Absent you are
When everything was nice
No one ever knew
What you must have felt
Alone

This world was not for you
It is not for anyone else

Aceituna aceituna aceituna ¿a dónde vas cuando sales?, cuando estoy cansado y con ganas de dormir, esta vida no es para nosotros aceituna eres el amor de las cosas que se acostumbraron a la lluvia, aceituna de las enredaderas de licores y de aviones que construyen sonrisas, aceituna que deambulas  por las calles de la laguna y de otras laderas imaginables, aceituna eres la que late como uno y dos y tres cuando duermo, aceituna eres una pantera que nace sin asomarse al sol, aceituna ¿qué harían las pequeñas piedras ocultas sin tu aliento de viruta?.
Aceituna, eres la neta de los gandules y las riberas desconocidas en las cosas pequeñas, aceituna tu vives como luciérnaga de carretera.