POETRY

HALLUCINATION He invaded my house, passed the gate of the courtyard, went through the cracks destination. Then, standing, alive, in the middle of the courtyard, he explains the truth of this beautiful cock I chuckled, she has much still to be clarified. This newborn piglet is wonderful, I giggled as before. She still takes me back: these flowers are really …

WHAT DOES LIVING SOUL? What soul lives? Did I not nourished with a knife, all year, in a table spread? A sip drank misery of others. And there in the footsteps of the Titans, I stumble with my soul. Ah, a witch! Just hear the first touch, you fionderà. Whether the outskirts of Moscow, or both morning. And then he …

GREETING I will leave the world with fury. No matter what seemingly happens if I retire gently. In fact, at that time they will stand by me tearing roots so deep as these Brazilian skies. In a hubbub of people and strong winds, eyes that I loved, friendly faces, afternoons and summers lived, they will be crying, because I stay …

A SLIGHT RAIN FALLS A light rain falls, no noise, on the moss. How many memories of the past! (Yosa Buson) http://www.amazon.co.uk/Collected-Haiku-Yosa-Buson/dp/1556594267  

LAND OF SPARROWS Maybe you think: this is a dark red flower flowing on the rock, these forms aggregates at the edges of the trenches are shepherds doze. The earth, as he depicted the brush of God, it is a field ready for plowing, for wheat, the walks, the songs. Maybe you think, does not know, how could he know …

HEART Some sell their blood. You will sell the heart. Either that or the soul. The hard part is to pull out the damn thing. A kind of spiral movement, like an oyster shell, your spine a pulse, and then, hey presto! It is in your mouth. Nearly you put yourself in turmoil, like un’attinia ejecting a stone. There is …

ROSE FLOWER Rose flower, body like honey. He rose garden, hair like night, hold the white snow of her swollen breasts. It brings snow, outside the door of snow two glasses of wine covered with white snow. Window of snow, in the window of white snow two valleys rose flaming, or two candles flaming two candles burning burning himself, to …

A FLOWER ON THE HAND OF A WOMAN Every time a man dies, a flower blooms on the hand of a woman. Your absence always comes with his head down, vague as usual through the rooms, before asking for dinner and coffee; It ensures that small are in me, and forgiveness behind my ears; then it appears on the balcony, …

FROM A NOTEBOOK The whiteness near and far. The cold, the hush. A first word stops the blizzard, steps out into fresh candor. You ask no more. Each never taken stride leads onward, though in circles ever smaller, smaller. The vertigo upholds you. And now to glide, across the frozen pond, steelshod, to chase its dreamless oval, with loop and …

POETRY IS A BOMB ATTACK CELESTIAL I’m absent, but the bottom of this there is no expectation of myself, and this expectation is another form of presence, waiting for my return. I live in the other objects, giving a little trip of my life in certain trees and certain stones, which I have waited many years. They are tired of …