I love Sunday mornings!

When the city barely babbles softly,
and only some rumors cut the song of the birds.
The calm is almost solid,
while the Sun turns my room orange,
and in my pupils .......
the moonlight says goodbye for a while.

The moth is still there,
in search of light on the table.
And the glass is definitely there,
And the moth does not understand.

I lost the lighter
no phosphoros
only the hot water tank pilot
And I have so many cigarettes!

I must learn hindu,
or imagine how they
This "Brisas del Mar"
does not have any of that
and it smells like a dog.

Today potato cake,
I think well done.
With black olives,
morron, good layer of cheese

The bottle was left in the sideboard
with his cork and hood,
unscathed and surprised

It's just that I do not drink alone
and a bottle is not a company.

I call Pedro, Clemente's nephew
Everything is fine,
That the lagoon still does not freeze
He  awaits me when I want

The address of Clemente
41º31.35 57 "S
68º 41.47 88 "O
but I know how to get there,
where today I would like to be.

The music tonight sounds flat,
It does not envelop me, I leave it anyway
Maybe someone listens
tonight better than me

Kosova returned tired of the forest
she has a hard time and it is hard for her to adjust.
The same will fall asleep at thebottom of the stairs
I called Pablo, I must give him the injection soon.

There is no wind, there are no sounds,
the incense defintively smells like a dog
No offense to anyone

I have to sleep, I'm tired,
but I'm not sleepy .......

These children sing,
these children dance,
these children laugh.

Lights, milds, plastics.

The tide and the moon guide everything and everyone.
The vultures are repeated in eternal circles.
Everything is a continuous fluid,
from the same sea to the tip of my palms

Joy is breathed slowly.
Especially at night ...

Here peace seems possible

Sparks sparkle from my hands
that illuminate the memory
of a dark city
of streets and passages,
of ochaves and walls

My eyes still see the candles
of the end of the earth,
a horse circling,
the brightness of some eyes
they look at me and they wrap me

And soft and firm hands,
and roaming the sidewalks,
lips and more lips
and a scent of surprises
that is stubborn here,
and I adore it.

The moon shines or shines
Or does it only reflect the dreams you keep?

And the moon goes at night
sustained by the blood of her sisters,
watering an aroma of fertile bellies,
of intertwined skin, of musk.

It caresses us, it watches us,
he looks at us, he lulls us,
He always forgives us forgetfulness,
at night cloudy,
of eclipses,
of stars.

Soft moon almost lightens,
a caress in the sky,
that reminds us,
the smoothness of a neck,
the touch in the hair,
the face,
the bodies all.

The moon is my Sister.

The loose notebooks
they walk around here and there,
taken out of hiding.
As the syndrome of Estolcomo

I see white walls
almost empty, almost
the free space
even within the walls,
I like space.

Light plays with the smoothness of the painting
tersuras of the picture, that I love,
that I saw him born,
smooth, creamy

The sounds come from above,
I put them there.
The hammock on the curtain.
The head of the condor in its place.

 And January Quetzal dominates everything,
before the mysterious look of the ebony slave,
on the corks of a thousand amazing wines.
 
And the universe according to the Tafi,
in the center of everything,
stars, the Moon,
under a round of fused hands.

All the bones are,
antlers, horns,
breastplates, fangs,
teeth, breastplates, tails.

Stones, rocks,
shells, conches,
scrapers,
more stones,
Eternal stones!

Compasses with watches,
the Russian chronometer,
ready as always,
the alarm clock of Churri.

While the notebooks enjoy their freedom,
and they come and go
And I do not draw anything

A beautiful female in her dresser chair,
who always turns his back on me,
yearning and fearful,
always beautiful.

How many beaches,
how many roads,
hills, mountains,
open immensities,
and traveled páramos.

Life does not stop!

Contemplate diversity
 It is sometimes astonishing.

To be deployed entails danger,
warning and wonder.
Far and close to everything,
only light conquers the silence of today.

Brown sands on my body,
reflections of a self-absorbed face,
an oath never said,
and without even a goodbye.

Bodies that have crossed,
one night destinations,
words in the cold air,
and a drop rolling on the skin.

The fleeting miracle of two open souls,
where the language ends,
and the eyes whisper,
and the skins speak.

A beauty that hurts now,
that hurts in memory,
that is definitively lodged,
digging into my being.

The knowledge that this something was profound,
it was finite,
it was surprising
  and unrepeatable.

Sweet pain of a night,
lived night,
in the light of a day,
in which the emptiness is felt.

Today I will be sitting,
with eyes closed,
  and upon awakening,
nothing will seal my pain?

There is no right path,
no doors,
no bridges,
nor eternal kiss.

I know, I do not deny

Loads forgotten in the wind,
smiles that empty my bones,
dissolved penumbras,
in hollow noises.

Memories of rapturous breaths,
Lying hands,
pleasant warmth,
and one tomorrow.


Today,
Nothing will be allowed,
over dried blood,
of this body,
in his last destiny.

There is the desert,
where the flower does not rest,
where the myth surrounds us,
and a hell that keeps us awake.

Life and death on the ground,
with huge cold stars,
Thousands of legendary paths
Uncertain place of hunting.

There ,
the earth dismisses its children,
there,
we are all nomads.

I have stolen more than once
hopes,
dreams,
and agonistic wishes.

I fired my memories many times,
I have refused to take some roads.
I have spent the night with death,
and I have awakened alive and sane.

I went out at an age that most still do not even accept to enter.

I have traveled roads at night,
of which others do not dare to speak,
no drunkards,
or in the light of day.

I've talked a lot,
loved women,
I have written some words and
listened many songs.

My name is Julio........
Maybe you have heard about me ........

I don't know there ......
but here,
the morning is of icicles,
of cold breath,
of a distant sun.


I don't konw there ......
here,
Prima silence,
the white roundness,
and the blue clean.


Here....
the leaves dazzle,
the water runs dense .....
the ice melts.

And there?

There was not there ...
but here,
I look to the East,
my eternal horizon,
the white vastness.

Here,
the creatures enjoy the morning,
the crispy floor,
run,
snort and dare.

There?


I don't konw there ......
but here,
the day unfolds radiant
and full of promises.


Today ..........  any promises radiant there?

Who knows when the twilight breaks?
Or the exact moment when the day begins?
Or why a perfume and not another?
What's in that look that calls me?

I know little and it's worth little.
Life keeps giving me questions
and I'm just a wasteland ...
only for minimal instants,
I saw the miracle blossom in me.

Of the pressing times,
and from the same backwaters,
of that delicate and ungraspable second,
I hang myself from all this.

Is it that we look at the moon because we are blind?

I know there is something more solid than the truth:
that can not be alone in me,
then withered,
and dies.

Words can deceive,
only music is diaphanous.
But the music does not want to leave us .....
Why?

Life keeps giving me questions.

The lights are shelled in this still night,
tomorrow is not written,
I still remember the heat of that skin,
and the light tremor that illuminated it.

Satin, silk,
soft,
warm,
beautiful.

And a dark almost black,
that cold nothing,
a dark Sun,
almost an eclipse.

The cooing of a voice,
the sound of a skin,
the light of a glance,
the breath of a being.

Ever play,
other times I dreamed,
with the warm sand on my feet,
and the view to the horizon.


I ever knew,
I once lost,
I have loved
and surely I will die.

There is a world out there,
and an infinity here,
of time I do not count,
that counts today for me.

Dear Friend:

The cold of the night falls,
from the very summit,
and the stars are witnesses,
the slow ones and the hurry ones.

The rights are not,
nor posilbles.
nor practices,
not worthy

I would caress a woman,
by the hand in other skins.
I see in her eyes,
for having seen others.


So today,
tonight,
right now,
I WANT:

Be fine,
that life throbs as in you palpitates,
that the walls are just that,
sets of bricks and mortar.
No more

I wish you on the route of the Moon,
up there,
in a night of stars,
comforting of thousands.

I want you orange from Sol,
with the leaves under the feet,
longing dehorses and carousels .......

That you feel the peace of Shiki,
that a love that enlightens you,
a hand that memorizes you,
a look that knows you.

Want you to know.....
 it's possible........
YES!
That you just have to see.

I know you,
 how do i know,
in your salty mouth,
and you crave to sate it.

Oh that thirst!

Lived,
that claims,
that whispers,
that restless

I tell you there are deviances and not rights.

So,
do not hide your warmth,
go out into the world,
and I know what you should be.

The sun shining a dawn
A smooth skin
An accomplice
(better more)
The flowering in spring!

Thrush singing in the at morning
and the evening.
The rains!
A good breakfast
a better dinner

The smile of a girl,
the advice of an old man.
Births,
the beginnings.

A few snowflakes caressing the face.
The tickle of the wind.
A word of encouragement.
Redemption and forgiveness.

YOU!

WE LIVE SURROUNDED BY WONDERS!

You must be able to see then.

Just join the pain,
someone said once......
truth,
but it's only half the truth

He knew it later
luckily he saw this at time
and he could be happy
Thanks  Ursula!

I once thought I saw
which is written on a banana leaf

Maybe it was like that,
If not
I really like its flavor

Even if it does not say anything
or deserves to be read

And it's excellent with cream!

Do you need to believe?

Believe in you first!

Do it in your affections
In that friendly look
That kind word
Believe in love and pain

They join us
truly,
they make us human .....
or more humans at least

At birth we only know that we will die

It's the only thing written
everything else is adventure
surprise
pain and joy

Let's all know how to live it
braves
wirth hopeful
ever open

Let's be eternal while we live
Our lives are only written in the sand

Be free from life and death!

I am testing a cabernet franc
"Aguijón de abeja"
Seeing the stars
Bellow this spledorous Sky
In a warm night

One great love
Two good memories
Four of five cured pains
Three friends at least
Four unexpected surprises
may tears
and thousands of smiles

Archie is a dog
not mine, from the neighbor.

We love each other

I understand hin
Archie understand me too
What better love?

We are pretty quiet,
we always look in the eyes,
What better love?

And Archie trusts me.
I always trust  him as well
What better love?

Finding us is good,
Share moments of the day
What better love?

Tell you about him,
about Archie and our days
That is love too.

My house is warm
for me for and my people
It's home i guees

My clover has only fourteen leaves
No more no less
The light is poor
in my west window

All my stars are above
The Rus its turns to a pale red
Its autumn
Some voices hear in this night
The south crux is in posisition
Its my night
Its your night too

the poems are messages thrown in a bottle to the sea
never we will know where arrive
nor when
nor how
nor who read
nor how  those eyes be

My shelves and desks
they are full of pencils
of varied origins
some unknown

How did they arrive?
I have not been to all
Mysterious Arrivals
from unknown places

But they are here and there
blacks, blues
yellows, reds
even some of indefinable colors

All write well
good pencils
And it's funny
Well, I do not write

Sterile ***** of sharp stones,
shattered rocks,
dust
and more dust.

The eyes glued,
burning,
my muscles are ropes,
and nothing stops this cold.

Be suspended,
canceled from the world,
the words fall apart,
in a silent pain.

Where is the desire?

Can not reach,
I don't feel it,
I dont believe it,
no more


However I craved,
almost compulsive,
what I do not have,
what I do not catch

Beyond the edge of the horizon,
with the breath of the world on my back,
and a look where the days and nights are reflected

She walks lightly
or rather go
from a distance she seems fragile
Her smile confuses us happily

Seeing the look, doubt grows,
just some glint of her eyes
give fractions of some certainty,
just for moments

At the time
you already know that height is not measured
that her hands are from the earth
that if the water demands her
she dives

She needs the Sun,
she is a being of the mornings
enjoy the aroma of dew
of those who nourish
of those that sprout and make sprout

She is tribal
the pain demands from her certainties
because the harmony slips from the soul
she is human, very human.

Now I see she
alone on the road,
fly to be light
dancing down the *****,
in the silence of the morning.

Words are things, say the Wolof .....

Words have a body and walk.
We almost that much ......
or almost nothing.

A red falls and floods everything,
like unforeseen thunder
the laughter is not for the masks,
they should be for the faces.

Do you agree?

Here and there .....
life,
not a sweet consolation,
without incentive,
just life

At times
my hands fall,
and my body gives way,
not always

Words have a body and walk,
if they stay still they die,
we have to feed them
said the Wolof

What caught my attention?

Her honest smile,
Her intense eyes.
Her curly hair.
Her relaxed face.

His soft and low voice.

What surprised me?

The ease with which she disarmed my complexities.
The sweetness with which she walked in all my corners.
the sonorous joy with her that filled the spaces.

Her love
frank, direct,
without folds,
without anesthesia!


What I amused by her?

Our culinary experiments.
Her uncontrollable fear of spiders.
Her concentration when I became serious.
When she pretended she did not understand my jokes.

Listen to her changing plans.

What I remember?

The walks in the countryside on summer nights.
When she sat at the table to put on her stockings.
The breakfasts in bed on Sundays !!
The mechanical effort to start her Citroën in the mornings.
Our games in the hammock of the gallery.


What I miss?

That I liked to go shopping.
That she bought me my shirts.
Her absolute complicity.
How she shuddered me.


What makes me sad?

That he has not discovered the secrets of those valleys.
That he has not spoken until sunset with Cachimayo Cruz.
when I believe listening to someone laugh like her.

That she is no longer my witness.
That she has not been a mother

A wise man said:
what you give, you give it
what you do not give, you take it away.

In a closed fist only a little sand fits,
by an open hand
It passes all sand of the desert.

To give you must be willing to receive.

Maybe Autumn is the easiest time to see it.

That leaf ... that leaf ...  eternal ....... yes.

The hand goes down through the air,
crossing a non-existent silhouette,
memories of a body,
leave my gentle me cold.

Perfumes like daggers,
sublime aromas,
cutting the wind
in empty scrolls.

Soul that is,
that lives,
that waits,
this soul of mine.

See obstacles and not the magic,
sterile spell,
creeping path,
a false noise

My hands runs through the air,
cutting the winds,
dodging daggers,
caressing the perfume of magic.

A being so silent,
reeves,
his life,
Absorbed from his own life.

It weaves wonders,
soft,
that will shake,
that dazzled.

Pure skin

The hand, the fingers,
they just rub,
the faithful texture,
warm and alive

The silk of your ***,
the warmth of your neck,
your body......
silk.

Magnificent fabric
True fabric.
As a kiss promised.

Pure silk.

What name will you have?
when you redo ...
will you be hungry?

After the wall,
the grass burns,
and the weather blows.

When you can,
Take your dreams,
to walk on the sand.

Your shadow in my hand,
it came on the lips,
and the night that vanished.

We would play to find where,
just for breathing,
Sliding through the windows.

I still feel your aroma,
the joy,
the laughts.

waiting for the right place and time,
there are no longer carousels.

The day shines
In the eyes of love
As a deep lake.

In the horizons of life,
life oozes,
complete,
and hot.

Even in death the Sun shines,
As never before,
As usual,
How it should be.

The girl with the hat looks at me,
sideways.

As it happens,
How did I go?

We are looking for carousels,
We look for walls,
We search,
Something that lets us stay.

The peace of the night is disturbed,
the day,
the days,
they fall off and fall.

The mists play with memories,
my eyes are troubled,
the muscle tenses up ......

We are alive!!

I see in the distance,
I cross it,
dense,
heavy,
and long

I'm still here,
and it's not a miracle,
just stubbornness,
and ignorance.

I celebrate
and I give thanks.

To your origins
to your vital marks,
for your face that understands me.
I give myself ...

And they come to look at me mute,
hard,
contents

I know I'm alive,
I touch me ... ..and here I am!
I feel in my hip,
the heat of my skin,


I am, I am, I am!
 

And the lack of a mattress,
and light are friends,
still cold floor is my friend,
the door is my companion,
I am your friend.

Who do the walls put out?

It is important to know where it is outside,
to know if I am inside.

Who is there?

Caress your waist,
is to feel the wheat,
golden,
tender
mature

Is Like to look around the field,
see the swallows cut the air,
in invisible thrusts ...
under the sun.

Caress your waist is summer!

Feel the turgid seeds,
ready,
throbbing,
full of life.

Your sparkling waist!

It is feeling the warm tremor,
almost tremolo,
of you,
of your being.

Your waist in my hands .....
and the walls do not matter,
nor the streets,
nor the stairs.

I would fly with you ......
clinging to your waist

Today Chewing has become almost philosophical.

The silence is total,
except for the boots,
walking down the hall,
no sound is mine

they do not leave me
they come
and inside I crunch
even silence is not the death of sound.

 

It's cold,
much,
to the bone,
Take me off, take away ......

First grade physics:
the cold does not exist,
it's just a transfer fee ...
but ****
I am cold.

I have lost weight?

I do not know,
does it matter?

... ..I do not even have the belt to measure it.

There is no mirror,
no reflections ...
I do not look at me.

I feel so light!

One can some things
, being isolated less.

Moisture stains tell me
I give them shapes,
I name them
Today are my clouds.

The first woman is there,
in the corner corner,
good-natured, teacher,
sweet.

I see the tamarisks,
that hip
in the wind
our enjoyment

Suddenly and through my eyes,
everything is there,
  and I also.

  somewhere,
... well maybe I'll get in there

In the sands of time,
the red beat,
almost at the end,
of this end.

For not wanting to see .....
What else will be lost?
By those hands ....
What else have you not touched?

There is a horizon,
There,
all around,
the summits of life.

Of the event,
of those hands,
the power to see from behind,
and contemplate the infinite.

I would like a more flowery dress,
and some less sinister clouds .....

Ema has eyes of full silence
that silently say it all
Look of gentle wolf
wolf herd mother

Warm eyes, flashes of the soul
Where you can guess pride
They overflow tenaciously,
of woman of the earth,
hands on earth

Ema's eyes

That tell still alive stories
With the softness of the iron edge
With the shine of fine steel

If one knows how to see,
see in the eyes of Ema.

Eyes that become gigantic in mine
Deep in the deep
Recognizing signs and traces
of Yesterday, of Today, of the future,
of the eternal.

Eyes of a wolf herd mother.
This is how Ema's eyes are.

The salt covered her face,
forming tiny crystals,
in the corner of her lips.

Her eyes closed,
Moving  under the eyelids,
slow,
in a relaxed sleep.

She raises her hand with guessing
where he is,
almost to her side.

Seeing how crystals form,
how his face shines against a distant light.

A hand stops in the air,
soft,
like following a music that has stopped.

He makes hugs gestures,
and supports her hands.

A smile is drawn,
the crystals fall off,
regulars,
in waves they shed.

Hes hands go to chest
that breathes,
, their mouths opens.

There will be no more salt.
... the thirst will be quenched.

There is a girl,
on the threshold of the world,
right there,
where everything is

But there are no castanets.

There is a girl,
as of Blue, she is of all colors,
with smiles of sunrises.
As a girl she has all ages,


Survivor,
pertinacious,
anxious about life,
delight of this life.

Drawing back the veils of time,
with a lot of effort,
she knows about death,
as much as I know

She has hope somewhere.

Soft and hard,
never give up,
Even in the night!
She wants to be eternal.

There is a girl sitting,
It's a girl,
who longs,
that suffers,
Even almost losing the balance.

Where the night and the day are one
uncertain place, she is

There is a ******* the edge of the world!

Feeling the smoothness of the snow,
the steam coming out of my nostrils,
crackling my steps on the ground,
in the solid silence of the night.

thoughts,
omens,
wishes .......
and flavors never forgotten.

Vapors of a skin,
in which  has lodged me,
that has been opened to me ...
alive,  healthy and extensive.

A skin that is honey,
open as a fruit,
fleeting,
almost  steams and shines at night.

Perfums of the pink acacia,
a moon crowned with lips of fires.
the silent vision of some bodies,
in a flowery bridge.

Images,
intimate secrets,
breezes of aromas,
destiny  of time.

A good body does not age quickly,
everyone knows.

Song of the night to the light,
shine of eyes without light
howls of loneliness,
and only a small pain.

The memories spill,
sneak in the sand,
and for tomorrow........
no traces

And the raging winds will roar.

There is nothing more visible than what is not.