Otro tema / Another issue

Soy un tema más en un tema,
como el dedo de pie
es sólo una parte
de todo el maldito cuerpo

Tampoco yo
puedo sostener esta ventana
si va a caer de todos modos

Tres es exceso
uno es demasiado poco:
Qué es un dos,
si cada par está haciendo
un agujero en la noche

Bebí tanto
como mi estómago resiste,

Las sombras están vacías
pero su peso es más
de lo que puedo confiar

Estoy triste, es todo
y nada hay contra eso.
.....

 I am another issue in a topic,
like a toe is only one part
of the whole damned body.

Neither I
can sustain this window,
it will fall down anyway.

Three are a too much,
one is too cheap:
What is a two,
if each pair
is doing a hole on the evening?

I drank as much
as my stomach resists.

Shadows are empty
but their weight
is much more than I can ever trust.

I am just sad,
that's all,
and there is nothing
against that.

cry

iwannacryinthemainmeaning

Perfect circle

in the bottom
we fly like monsters without evenings

in the top
we creep up like animals with no eyes

but there is a place in between
where we walk in a comfortable interlude
with our hands pretending a bridge of ends
that clap each of our new beginnings

Insight

Time to time
I was wondering

Where do you leave your needs
before going up
to the free stage of your dreams?

Where are your eyes
hanging from?

where do you believe on me?
where do you belong to?

I guess my mind
is arriving a little bit delayed
but it will come.

I guess your mind
is on my mind
until I die,
until tomorrow.

backlight

there is nothing
but shadows

shadows of eyebrows
shadows of lips
shadows of breasts
shadows of shadows

the wind sings the sound
of those autumn leaves
flying into spins
over the scoops  of my hands
pretending the shadow
of a sparrow.

Belongs to the wind

The parfume of my dreams
runs the surface of the ceilings.
Its music seems to be hands
clapping the paint

Its appearance to my eyes,
is like a dress
hanging from the yellow theatre
A lit velvet that agrees to take
the body of a mistaken baloon

Perhaps I could also think
that it is a blessed of fire
which will bring the maps
for guiding my steps
towards its death

Raining dust

Underneath the powder
of a kissing wind,
the sky crumbles
over the noisy necks
of the angry rivers.
 
A dirty yellow smile,
willing to fill the sound
with a nasty dream,
seems to be a little sparrow
cutting the air.

Fishes are opened
and the thirst comes dressed
pretending rain.

Pride

He sat in the edge of my heart
and sunk his toes

I could taste the death
covering my face
with those little fingers
like flies on my mouth

The empty voice
comes from the soil
where the beauty is being killed
by the wax of the mysteries

There is no cave inside of any of us
that can shut this disgusting noise

A lost thunder
is whispering on my ear, softly.
It is trying to shake
 the ivory of the stones,
it's trying to bleed the ax
that knocks my chest.