Garlands
Around my soul,
Leaves scorched by their inner autumn
Seem like a human purgatory:
...
Sun
Evening carry my head on a tray
From its blinding hours
Into another kind of dream.
...
The pyramides, the stars
On the roof of my night
Dawn’s tongue licks
The taste of shared illusions:
...
In Dante’s inferno
My golden bee in martyred
In a jar of burning honey.
...
My pink piglets:
Little cannibals of dream,
Gulp the peels and the pearls
Of my inner hunger.
...
Behind the door
Of days that flow till evening,
I drink, like a shadow,
The long hours of rejection: the bitter water,
...
Behind the door, tattooed by the rain and the hours,
I paint the damp light in the room,
Like a shadow: the bitter brush of rejection,
Until there is nothing anymore to reject.
...
In the small twilight of my room
I suckle again and again my shadow: the child of rejection,
As if I could rescue it, not by love,
But by the nipple of our shared solitude.
...
Often I voyage to the impenetrable solitude of a room,
Where my echoes: the cry of rejection,
Are buried, each in its own brick of memory.
...
The shaman of fear
The shaman of the thousand faces, thousand solitudes,
Dances in my shut eyes:
The private night of my years.
...