Live first
Die after

let's do it well
at list
just one time

perceives the flower as a flower
even in its absence

there is no forgiveness
without redemption
despite the flower

to give
you have to be willing to receive
even without the flower

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.

Friend of the soul,
my brother.

Do you remember grandfather's attempts with the violin?
And grandma's cake?
Yes?
You are good then ...

There are still things that give you goosebumps ...?
A word,
or a smile
or the white of a snowfall,
whatever?

You weigh your affections
even above your appetites?
Are you loyal even though you shouldn't be?
Do you look at the moon every so often?

If so,
I have good news
very good news

You are still alive!

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.

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.

A miracle of the earth
and the hands
under an unbeaten Sun
the wise wait
and the seasons

Meat and blood
of the land and Us

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!

Memories like drops in the sand
but  not lost
they come and go
today and always

The feeling of petals brushing my face
wrapped my body in your vibrant voice
the complicity of ours skins
and the delicious humidities

I remember that day
that moment
that you
today and always

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

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!

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.

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 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!

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 .......

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

People are like wines,
Or it is the reverse?

Uniques, unrepeatables.
Surprisings,  forcefuls,
capricious, forgettables,
beautifuls,
friendly,
rudes, youngs, matures .........


I like wine
I love people

In quarantine the glasses appear thicker
The furthest trees
muted sounds
Life slows down

I am losing the memory of hugs,
the softness of the skins,
the intensity of the looks
and the heat of the kisses

I'm like in a long dream
In which I go from hope to weariness
The leaves seem to sway to the beat of a music I do not hear.
Isolation makes me feel strange

And by the way the sky is clearer

He has a special connection with horses
and they with him
It was magical and intimate
a mystery without words
The master of horses!

Queta was my uncle grandfather
At 12 I learned about the 21 's trisomy

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

Your red-hot smile
through the steam cafe
on a cold and quiet morning
its good start today

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.

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

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.

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 .....

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!

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

Every secret keeps a truth,
and all truth entails a sacrifice.

But forgiveness is with you ...
.... to be feared.

We are born
because we are going to die.

From the deep
I invoke ...
Doubt is part of the faith.....
they are one.

Who knows a truth?
Who dares
to a sacrifice
much greater,
than to stop being  himself?

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.

The woman's hat was blown
she runs wobbly to reach it
The clouds pass quickly to the horizon
There are puddles on the pavement

It has not stopped raining
Nothing is left dry
the blue of the sky
and the sun's rays are missing

The woman definitely lost her hat
My memories are like these raindrops
and drain from my head
forming stories on the pavement

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.

A secret to discover is closed in us
One treasure shines here cradles the heart but
It is hidden in the words and in the burning hands
In the sweetness of crying in the warm caresses

In the blue glow of the air a seagull
In the white sea of sonic foam
Curious lurks the pink candles
Looking for our treasure

The breeze plays like a gazelle
Over all white and Gold street
Curious peers at the window slit
The search for our treasure

Fate has put us here and now

In isolation and virtuality we die at least a little

We can hear, read  and see each other
But the skin and breath of the other have been lost
Hugs freeze in midair
The humidities are missed

This is the sacrifice
For what we love
For what we want to preserve
We must die for a while

Today loving is being alone

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.

A spring afternoon in Vuelta de Oviglado ... never was the green of the leaves so green.

My sister telling me that she would be  mother.

The hot afternoon arriving to Molinos, drinking water and eating bread in the fountain of the square.

The tales of Cachimayo by the light of the embers.

Listen to Patricia's voice calling me to dinner.

The night of love and balconies under the stars with Ro.

In her last autumn ,  Kosova happily running through the snow.

Roaring walls of water and crazed foam
Stubborn gulls
A complete and eternal gray
sea bear bellows

Here life is rude
pertinacious
inexhaustible
Here life gives us hope

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

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

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?

Storm of people

All gestures in endless bursts
between the rumor of hundreds of languages
and music!
In one single place

All hopes, dreams,
fustrations and pains,
walking fast
without looking at

Infinite destinies!

Experimental crucible
and you there perceiving everything
enjoying it all........
......not a simple Miracle

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

Leave your body in my arms
Let yourself feel the warm heat of me
Trust
Trust a hope without promises
My arms are an extension of my soul
And your body of mine

The laborious goldfinches
look for seeds under the snow
persistent creatures
they don't give up!

The neighbor's dog
sleep on the fallen leaves
above  eaglets hover in circles
alerts and proud

The cypress waves its branches
to the west wind
drawing riddles
on snow

Even in the white wasteland
life does not stop for anybody

we are all longing walkers of our dreams

We who have lived almost everything
It is the memories that surround us
The hope in you
in your dreams and in your joyous strength

You must know
We have less certainty
Fewer dreams
Fewer doors to open

This is life

But in something we are alike
life is only worth living
as if we were eternal
until the end

Have a great trip

What you do not give, you take it away.

Only a little sand fits in a closed hand,
and  open one let all the desert sand pass.

In autumn the forces regroup,
mutan, shut up .....
..... in spring they will be scream and scandal

To give you must be willing to receive.

That leaf is eternal ....... !.