Category: Poetry

I don’t care about the weather:those luminous eyes of thinelook wondrous with sunlight,and even with electric storms…Only a thunderbolt can be as electricas the colour of thy iris.

Today I could not avoid taking a napwhen tiredness forced me to rest,but my imagination compensated me,with abysmal dreams of music and rhyme.

The solar beams against my eyes collide,reflected by the surfaces of the things,and perturb my soul, provoking me colourful ideas,that appear to have a grand profound sensefor which I manipulate my will,nourish my hope,and my life continue.

Frontal row,delicious luck. Thy simulated stoicism…Thou art concentrated,but inside not so quiet,as thy body looks,for in thy soul a storm succeeds. Sublime music.

It dusked.Betwixt the edifices I look towards the heaven,while inspired singing I walk. I take the enormous pencil,soak it with ink,and agitate it upwards. The gouts of colour contrastcrashing against the black welkin.With the impact each one in ten more transforms.And the night remains refulgent,drizzled with ink of humid fire.

Rainbow thou wilt desire some nights. I will not have cloud, haze nor rain; only sky of azure pointses et the minisunpallidvisible liune. And yet I promise thee to intent rainbow to achieves. DAN

-Sir… I think that… -Tell me. -I was going to express you a thought, but I decided to autocensor myself and not to do it. § Capitalist Moral Prudence Autotorment autoinflicted to power to continue [alive] suffering, which some how seems better than to stay in the oblivion and not even power to stay. Why?…

I dreamt thee yesterday:Pneuma, wind, birds, love…Two strings and a bandoneon. Poems with my feather I sketched thee:Azure ink on thy paper skin. Euphoric breezes:Fascinating transmutation;of platinum windowsand not of crystal. The tangoenlivened thy magnetism,singingour bodies we united,and with mistthe stars we faded. «Say no to the impossible»they adverted me,but they never met thee.Neither did…

My absurd desire want: serene want desire I want not to lieand I desire not to lie. I want two sapphires quasi virid,pure snow surrounded by ringlets;wind and echo, chants and yells,et pallid mel dearly dulcet.