endlessly,
I don´t stop, shaking
by perennial sweat.
Slaves of a new
scream that drives you crazy,
all beauty, all
the murmurs of the people.
They tell me that I was
an intact dusk,
I preferred
shouting alone in my mind.
Prisoner, yes, sometimes
but only of my body
because my spirit
remains free here.
And I furrow the sea that embroiders
the vastness of the horizon
like an infinite galley
that the galleys adorn.
They tell me that I was
an intact dusk,
I preferred
freedom before death.
Today, I am free: wind
thunder, fire, ether,
the snake or the condor,
roaring black panther.
THE NOMAD
FLEE FROM THE TEACHERS OF WISDOM and the plague as well. And take wisdom as your true teacher. Don´t wait for it to come to you, go out and look for it in the mountains and valleys, in the meadows and deserts, in rivers and in the seas, especially in the seas that are the paths to freedom and where the never fatigued Oceanids dance to the beat of the storm. I have travelled the worlds and times. My essence is nomadism. I am a wanderer who has walked, travells and will visit all roads in search of the precious chimera: Marco Polo, Ibn Battuta, Johan Ludwig Burckhardt, Cristopher Columbus, Fernando de Magallanes, Juan Sebastián Elcano, James Cook, David Livingstone, Henry Morton Stanley, John Speke, Roger Casement, Richard Burton, Charles Darwin, Jacques-Yves Cousteau, Neil Armstrong, Yuri Gagarin.
I have come to look for her embarked on this arduous journey with these swindlers carrying the map, the route that will lead me to the secret and with a safe voice I have claimed the place I deserve. To doubt your word and the place you assign it, would be to doubt your own existence, even though your word is nothing more than a blurred mirage in the middle of the fog for now. If here in the most beautiful part of the sea a plea could be raised to the three-faced goddess, I know that mortals (oh, filthy race of mortals) would be satisfied with demanding all the wealth in the world. I, no less mortal than them, with my wishful thinking, would ask to have the word.
In the future, I will descend to the catacombs of language and together with the slaves, Indians and the lumpen brother of mine I will utter my tirades in the most prosaic words guaranteeing the fairness of their claims. I will ascend to the cleanest strata and next to repulsive pharaohs and kings, aristocrats and learned, magnates and bourgeois, I will sing the apologies to art for art with refined symphony. The word, nevertheless, stays there, in the purgatory of those two lies. I will have to travel a thousand and one mazes more to be able to find it.
Meanwhile, I put my feet on this virgin land, I rest on these shores to give a new name to each object and beast that my eyes reach.
THE JOCULAR
IF YOU INSIST SO MUCH, carnal, I will tell you how it happened. I was leaving a very cool performance. She was the mum of the shows. That afternoon, I shone with my own light, not even the trapeze artist could match my camel. And that´s where the kick went from. They threw me the corpse hard. They say I am a thief because a coward lost its wool. The magistrate asked me in front of the defendants´ bench: So you are the opium addict who was found in the red zone? Me, an opiate? You have been misinformed, my magistrate. Talk to me well because you are not with your band mates, he said to me. See my magistrate, in the end I´m going to talk to you about what the scroll is like and don´t think I want to put it in my pocket, but simply tell you the truth. It happens that I was going to my home town with the bunch of potatoes in the box of my poncho. In this, when I get home, I tell my wife: Little daughter, here you have this money, go and pay what is owed to the corner store. When my wife returns, she says: A robbery has occurred in the corner. I turned around and I was afraid. But like a big asshole, trying to sap the move, I run to the street, I got to the corner and I realize that the whisk was effective. Of course, when I arrived they were calm as dead people. Next to me, there was a young boy, with some floors more or less, a tilt from the watuves, a cross that marked the Yoni-style t-shirt with an anchor that looked like a ship. And there was also a smart guy. The man realizes that the boy was loaded with green and zaz who sends the shovel to the left wallet and takes out all the cocoa.
I was not to blame for anything, my magistrate, if I had even been paid in the circus that day and when I arrived, the fighting had already occurred. Do you get me? Or you don´t get me, my magistrate?
What do you think, colleague? The magistrate believed that he was not speaking to you from the right. Now they throw me in the drawer, crazy. As I don´t have an oar to go out, they say I´m a smoker. I´m not an opiate, buddy. Furthermore, they taught me not to investigate the how, nor when, or where, but why. I would like to know why you ask me so many bullshit, as if you were going to take me out of the dungeon. But as the trip to the bastard island of the damned is long, now you tell me the why of your history.
AIR
YOU WILL BE A MAIDEN, a carnation or lily, a hydrangea or jasmine. I will be the happy faun that smells you, that frequents your garlands and boasts the impregnation of your fragrances. Rationalization will be for automata, feelings will serve free spirits forever. You will be pubescent, a poppy or mugwort, a lily of the valley or spring. I will be the youthful whole, the initiatory youth who will suck your doctrines like layers of honey or like sighs in a stampede. Logics will be formulated to dislodge them, sensations will bow in front of us and we will bow before them.
You will be the virgin, a dahlia or magnolia, a camellia or sunflower. I will be the libidinous centaur that will sweat ecstasy and that will reject the invalidity of the tiresome arguments. Good sense will suffer from the enigma of the equivocal, sensitivity will lead us to the perennial. You will be the nymph, a tulip or chrysanthemum, a pansy or daisy. I will be the clandestine ephebe who will the clandestine ephebe who will perceive with passion the miasms of concavities. The method will be the explicit sample of an erroneous prudence, the freedom will constitute the criterion of the new future city. You will be the harlot, a gentian or chicory, a gold button or dragon´s mouth. I will be the snort of the bison, the morbid ethereal that will project its masturbations on your colored gatdens. The preaching will dawn floating on the landfills, our transgressions will ascend us to diverse atmospheres.
Your rainbow will remain intact like a nymph that will that will hide its rattles to the sound of my flute. It will be the time when your guidelines will be shattered. They will advise you to define yourself by the way of the submissive, but your forms will not be suitable for the carperts of the fearful people, because your exuberance does not lie in the defects of modesty, but in the delimitation of less complex laughter. It will be the defloration, because I will separate your scarlet petals with the breath of my desires, and your most intimate sights, your interior blizzards will swirl my anachronisms. You will live in the visions that I will invoke in the name of Dionysus, in the dawn of our masquerade, in the northern lights that will blush your four cardinal cheeks.
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