*
I am
a small, pale poem
—that never said anything—
and wants to erase itself
with tears
*
My death
are empty books hung along a bombed-out wall
my body
the empty and bombed-out wall
From Escop(o)etas para una muerte en versos b…ala (2015)
Child X
The only thing you can’t lose
in this world of loss and debts
is tenderness,
embrace yourself/touch yourself with your fireous fingertips
dance on a summer afternoon to the rhythm of the waves
and also imagine
and imagine again
never tire of imaging
your death among the clouds
a wooden toy car
a rainfall of grey sunflowers
my chocolate cake child X
who lives only in my head
because he doesn’t exist
Oh! My storm-child
of the passing comet
with his crippling fingers
let yourself be burned
with the rays of a tepid sun
let yourself be carried away by a wind
that moves towards forgetfulness
From “De textos insanos” (2009)
*
My love
phallic hallucinogenic mushroom
semen of light
testicles of blue rain
hands tentacles pleasure
for you:
my multidimensional anus
my animal lips tongue
(you penetrated me with your cock and eyes)
From Gay(o) (2015)
Translated by Paul M. Worley
