Verbs predators
(2007)
must believe in the book to write.
The writing time is the time of that belief . Edmond
Jabès
The writing time is the time of that belief . Edmond
Jabès
POETIC
Suddenly the poet's face curdles larvae.
Such is its lightness.
have to remove them one by one, the poem
to reverse its course,
to calm the maelstrom of injuries.
have been many cries squatting,
curve nature of the funeral.
The front is on the ground. Happiness is a
affiliation not-so day.
By rooting the last Fortunio
will have to cut the poem that forces, such as tooth
, trance voracious.
The poem will grow in your own forgiveness. Shall
crossings, pursuits, travel. A flush of certain slavery.
And the pain? Will they recover
for the book to grow in the book?
Why pits of the future tear? Retype
is to be sad and tense,
abundant until the end.
AM WHAT I SAY NO
I am what I say without a source to back.
still unresolved black smell of my uprooting.
I say that I inherited the clavicle of the enlightened,
my race was once smeared with salt.
honor I commend the deterioration in the smoke gets worse
places without a name.
But all that regret is gag.
flashes do not come from antediluvian
in family portraits no women hardwoods.
The beards of the great-great
not hide exceptions.
alibi just in my blood for rust,
crazy self-absorbed, bent backs.
inheritance can not instill more than sting.
My ancestors were planted with sleepless faces, knowing
The eyes would still wired.
learned wandering but no consolation. They lived
mourning, fierce and wretched
between shades of nuisance.
SYLLABLES NATIVE
The words that throw
unhappiness over our bodies are animal
lavish biographical disorder.
language I can not imagine my father who tread in their penultimate
wheezing,
or that I breathe with
ammonia shock when I come over the insult.
the mother had already loaded with the otherness of ridicule, the humiliation
omens say no cardinal.
syllables contained Nobody admonished the womb.
POETIC
Snow that my ancestors weathered relic
is unfortunate that I shudder.
No gaping or nostalgia landscape
comply
darkness to claim a place in my clothes,
my mess, my stench.
Nothing tops, peninsulas,
swamps, sandy treacherous.
not even a bird in the abyssal stupor.
No spine or cornered mound.
story I tip-if true, and vertigo are in the glossary
steep from a distance.
The landscape that curse
-called intangible
is no landscape-
to ditch veins on the hands, torso
that cooks with sugary armor.
And the snow, which should tow the dream
accuses me from clearly inadequate, as if it were compelling
pale, viscous
admire all horizon,
be the time, retaliation.
ORPHAN'S ATTEMPT
trips say about me as something separate,
but it is not to flee but to me elsewhere.
stuns me the permanence of certain households, licking
sharp shoulders stretches broken off. Never
I approached the canals
outdoors for fear of a final.
I take even a few tracks:
go to an island in the middle
has a lake and in it another island. Crossing a desert
overwhelmed with crows,
a mountain of coffins.
not required to tell about the brevity of a tear, I
distilled into sentences increased.
not know what bile from the cows come home, what is the concoction
indispensable to repose. Of the trips
chew the flow brings me
of returns I have copied the thicket.
Any attempt crossing is orphaned.
STATE OF EXILE
There is a string of verbs emancipated.
all mine. The foul and light.
all love him, I bit, I cradled.
inaccuracies are mine, the mud
unabated,
wires home blood curdle. My
which deprives,
greedy sap one evening,
crumbling bones in the womb.
Minutiae take them to disgust me, exile me.
The losses will start me wrong, I will
gifts or time.
If I go over yet harmonious
fear in another port
messed me new hope.
POETIC
never saw crops of saffron, bastard
no complaints.
More red is the omen that blindness.
manuals warn never
the outcome of a defendant when it clears.
They stop in fictitious names,
twist a world without favors.
Not so books of poetry,
not stop, do not drive, do not promote;
mass of twitches, stony
Haggard of the tribe.
OFFICE OF GUARDIAN
The son returned from a trip to the southern marshes.
I must say that your turtle is dead.
I swear I changed daily water, lettuce and offered
flash of my hours of fever.
even talked to the lonely reptile
on the human inability to hold on to the equinoxes. Produced
waves in lowest cove dove
pebbles and plastic soldiers,
that did not miss the excitement of three in the afternoon.
vain attempt: dawn hit the turtle.
dilution took me thinking, in my childhood buried birds and dogs, still hurts
visiting their absence.
newborn Explaining the flows come from
that death is a muscle exercised without utensils.
Secretly I thank the animal has given up, no good
guardian of another future.
never recovered his calm, his agency liar
courage to take guns home in the dark.
FEVER
The child becomes worse during the siesta.
His eyelids slip on warm poisons. The weakness
requires water, abandonment. Weep no burn
purple tongue and premature aging.
roots oozing from his throat.
has been seven nights of toil at the foot of helplessness.
The child knows nothing of proparoxytone faces.
The father wants to sleep, again thresholds.
The mother is a former clarity.
not support
boiled closure hours. Fierce
desencontradas, are bowed with shouts galore
older than his indifference.
The small, mock-infected and refuses to swallow.
trouble will come.
Hunger shall without delay its mission to scab.
It will even forgiveness.
ANNIHILATION the green
Alexis Romero
When a tree falls in front of one
is because in some remote place is a home
bribed by the cold.
recent Foliage not give up, leave
then the wisdom of the sap. Nor
sudden downpours
dramatic end with the future of the cups.
But a tree, say a fir tree, an acacia, a saman-
not reverse the order of the designs,
not shaken in the severity of the fog, the infinite is not intended
doze of deserts.
A tree falls apart without grace, never fear torture
error.
If you look at your fatigue,
if we reach to witness his gnashing last,
is a habit to lapse into another identity.
never understood the curse of
persist in greenness of annihilation. We
long
sustained by the excesses of last week,
outside the foliage.
When a tree has died beside us, very nearly
when we lash out,
forget the loneliness of this little disaster, shameless
moan
rests on only the birds, squirrels and who will pick him
useless mess of leaves.
RUINED THE DAY
Travel / or birth.
Travel / or the wreck.
Travel / or surrender. Guardo
substance. I am making gates
of improvised circumstances.
There are many ways to disengage.
I start half.
I have undertaken other rave:
me out of my house, ripped me clothes
,
tattooed me a number,
me gassed, incinerated
me, made me
. I went
wolf meat,
poured into gall,
believing.
I said 'I was in the jaws. "
Lie was light,
the shelter,
the fierceness of the visions. Lie
the call, which will
.
also the scar left by the snake. Perhaps
asked if I wanted to write,
loose, care
a mountain. Yes
could.
Nobody wanted to know if he returned whole.
disgusted me early. I was given hours
raw.
I was skeptical, I had groped
head. Vi
twist bread, a cry.
So my final words and blackened, grinding
my nonsense,
gravel lying on the bodies, toning
no shade, no desire.
And despite everything, a rumor
tongue inside, deep inside
,
small
awkward,
disinherited.
STATE OF GRACE
poetry every day ominous,
how to be saved,
how Announces faith.
sinremedio is decanted in the beginning, in boasting
poisonous.
is the first big disappointment.
writing ameliorates the true findings, fossil
his illusion.
runs from vermin. Always someone
cradled my inability to take shelter.
Motherhood has spit a few hours.
is why I watch, tide
groomed,
interrupted
in disgusting state of disgrace.
POETIC
Plows poems,
plows and plows the edges one evening in Istanbul.
O in Bucharest, which matter. Same
'll never, never again go
another scale that is not specific.
The flight is shaped in the waist, never
feet, as they believe the abandoned.
never crosses a river with hips asleep,
is not a repeat of the fronds.
why lie to the contention
carries the risk of leave flowers or scruples.
The wandering is in the poem that rumination unhappy.
And the poem, beyond
glazed beast, guess deserter,
is always in step.
THE REVERSAL OF LISTENING
evening has come saturnine get rid of the listener, just spur launch
interior. We have been wickedness
leaden, diners
givers of a family that comes to safety.
The listener will get lost forever.
not I him.
epithets abdicating leafy
serve us when they attend
longings,
precede insurance.
like silence to evil.
My hope is quiet.
poems are no more cheats.
That remains the burning house why.
POETIC
Finally the most horrific stories and are opting
mana precipice of hesitation.
So pour one in us:
of anguish to the play.
Identity is in the fur of the book,
not the case, or lean
antonyms future
to undress or fatigue.
