Diciembre

Frío, hasta la médula,
Frío en los pulmones,
Frío, caudal en mis venas,
Frío sagaz, de lengua inerte,
Frío pequeño y delicado,
Frío con melena,
Frío de asperezas escarpadas,
Frío incandescente,
Frío boreal e ignífugo,
Frío austral y reincidente,
Frío que almacena más frío,
Frío administrado friamente
Frío canto de sirena,
Frío, autista estilizado,
Frío que me lleva, más lento que en la muerte.
Frío arrojadizo y mecanicista,
Frío resquicio de calcio adolescente,
Frío náufrago suficiente .
Frío solamente.
Eres frío solamente

Tras el silencio que habita en el ecuador de la ceniza,
tras las caricias que ya no existen,
tras la danza de la luna, la sal y el silencio,
a través del contoneo de la cámara lenta,
ya esparcidos símiles y disonancias,
me quedo aquí, hecho pedacitos
esperando a que vengas con tus ojos de gata
y un bote de superglue.

Ven, cógeme de la mano,
vamos a decirle guarradas a la luna,
ella no nos va ver,
total, es de noche.

Ven, déjame apurar el humo
que cuelga por la comisura de tu jersey,
vamos a dar vueltas,
a perdernos antes de que cuente diez.


Pueril y sardónico,
tóxico, remanente,
epirutual y claustrofóbico,
a veces pienso que tan sólo me dedico a huir
de una partida de ajedrez.

Salgamos despedidos hacia el principio del fin,
decontruiré mi aliento,
tan sólo tinta y papel.
Ven.

RULED PAPER

Good night dearest, as I can imagine you are trying to guess who has spent their time to write you a letter that you are holding between your pale phalanges. All this is amazing, don’t you think so? Don’t you think so dearest? I thought that all this has become amazing and I send you my late sorrow.

Sometimes I don’t know what to do with the liquor of my tears, is a strange brew, poisoned and black, with the taste of a hundred of knives, with a burning neon flavour eating the shore of my eyes. I suppose that I won’t have any more chances to set free my cry. I’m dying.
Yesterday I saw you, the strength of your arms ruined me, took up my latest choice to hint a smile, today I shall bring this words to you. It’s hard to understand, in fact I’m lost and confused, because when you were born, you loved me and kissed my lips. It seemed to be your profession, your favourite occupation. I just can ask myself if you have abhorred me. Why have you forgotten me? I am abject and ablaze. Why can not I stop sinking? I feel like a blind clown broken into little pieces on the floor of a circus.

You used to run across my chest between huge sunflowers, and later, when you were lazy, you liked to float inside my veins. I found my heaven between your hair, my little child, my baby. Don’t you recognize me son? I’d like to tell you a lot about the hidden stories of gods and myths, the same old ones that you have learned before I let you run away. I would like to give you the secret of my seas, of my birds’ songs, of my latest prays, but you ran screaming across a petrol highway, increasing all my nightmares and pains.

You have been looking for the green smell of money and the creation of a society built with mirrors, cigarette smoke, and the manliness where insane children strangle their innocence day after day. You have chosen an option, and I am sorry to leave you.
I am the mother earth. The desperate life. I am sorry to tell you that these are my last words; sadly I am going to walk down this one way pier to the abyss of nothingness. I have decided that I am going to hide away myself in the ether sea, where anything has no name. I did not want to kill myself and I can not imagine how cold your heart has become.
This is the end. The end of quiet stars. The end of green leaves falling from the trees and the end of wolves crying to the moon. The end of seaweed dancing on the ocean floor. And the beginning of palliative measures to the wild life. I hate you. I detest you all. You have destroyed the force that has kept me turning all these days.