This is to be a man: horror with both hands. Blas de Otero
I learned long ago deep
reasons you do not understand. José Hierro
torture me
God surrounds me with strange words, hungry dogs.
a machine that crushes tenderness
As if to remove wine from my eyes at night
But only kidding between wilted petals.
I know the smell of the wind died,
The line staves
guerrillas Putting dots between the depths
And I know, for sure,
Because God gave me the legends of rivers,
A tearful weather a child I coveted.
My name is not in vain
A god that lives must suffer, I suffer
and each color is a pin of vinegar buried in my gut.
God told me, while looking for something between trunks asleep
be a poet, is an office of hatred, of putrid omens,
'll have to root out deadly trees laziness, his desire to totem
profane the sea, its power dump silent and bright,
Bring the fog like ghosts indicated an avalanche of punches
And thou shalt bring forth the man of paradise all melts. God
I warned of the angels envy Adam
From his birth to Eva sadly animals without wings.
But I got to choose, to cut the thread
when my blood is full of bubbles
And my heart swelled as the bodies of the drowned.
His last advice was a mirror to recognize the tedium. Barrow
mites are,
worms, growing pure as the driven snow, we
in the bag of vomit. And there are hidden
pores in the skin just for the nest of flies.
But something that is not the body,
something that tightens and expands as breathing
have not managed to decipher their archangels:
It is our spine, the trump card, what God
recruit, recover and forget.
I am a poet and the desire to put dynamite into the sky is not terrorism
is the outstanding account balance, charging his macabre game.
I gave birth to all the wonderful color melts into the kiss,
With all the noise making havens in the throat of birds;
A snail, firefly, a chrysalis, a butterfly just
were enough to know that life would not be easy, to die,
would be a conviction, that the gallows would still scare since then.
gave me the most delirious offices:
Tester carrion, a taster of silences, of nights
notary, fiscal absence and crying, Tanning
sunsets, sunrises and vespers,
Guide rotten teeth, skulls
hatched absences, Attorney
rain and lightning,
Comptroller of innocence,
counter
orgasms and Gravedigger of forgetfulness.
God pressed me soul, gave me drink
life as if it were hemlock
And I officially put his ruin.
But freedom did not anticipate that I did,
The power of his voice became nothing,
And one night I called to put it in my mirror,
threw it against the sky, pinched, pulled him towards me inside, since I take
courtyard from my chest like a drunkard,
as a prisoner of war and in every abyss
I feel her trembling, begging her moan.
