Impressions of a vacuous reality:
Three scattered poems
Studies on immaculate perception
Going backward in space
I find an hideous bramble
It seems excavated forcefully into rottenness
Inertia of incompleteness
Inertia of abandonment. When plow digs deep gray furrows
On uncovered walls of a palm
Chasm disfigures me when my corpse
Exhumed, emits a cry as wide as a thousand cantons
Languorous howls deep.
It’s done to be left to itself alone, because smoking the room
Thieves were escaped, and the mad halls of germ had been polished
From its prostrated substance. Sweet, honeyed odor of Mantis’ fungi
That is paralysis, impossible to describe his life of rattles and joy.
In the buried yard, home back, I planted two beans, two eggplants, two pepperoni.
I didn’t notice that this terrain is mine, only mine.
But don’t want to have nothing else. Land belongs to everybody, want to have many
Brothers and sisters.
Slather the flowerbed of limed land, life has consumed.
In the arch of thousand early existences, the rectal source that we search has transformed
Into molasses.
I have the corn thorn, and rice that grows in square and hexagonal patches
In the perimeters of the messes not far from home, in the spaces subtracted
To cement.
I am here, want buildings. Regret the progress of many learned eras, want to build
My house of soil and mud. Consumed from nature, I am ashamed from it.
I want to emancipate! When I will meet love nearby
And for your virgin substance, love, I will pick delicious acanthus, and will ornate your
Locks humid of sweat, when you back home. I will be here sweeping the doorstep,
Crying.
The vision of the Real
In the real immensity
Darkness has become a sweeten prism
That man in his anguish
Struggle to see,
Oh magma, oh stripe of immanent light
Whatever I have been gifted
It’s been shut, buried,
Grey anvil
Anodyne sad concrete
Terrific conquest but
also much tender defeat
you remind me all those eves
of heavy rain
in which life
was dragging
and gripes were
done for being gobbled
and forgotten
not like green labors
-
Abyss of sun!
Wander, wander with all your impotence,
Through the hills trussed of walls,
Through man who is appeared
Vain, in his deed of Goodness,
Oh sad load, oh sad load
Dried meteors!
Fatigue of writing
The gloomy gesture, that you, mister
Would like covet
Martin, for the stripe of Myrtle
Yuka, and Kicho for their mouth
Spine-chilling, tongue of
Whispers
If you are like the woodpeckers
Last crafts left in the world
The hot baths at the end of day
Remain the pure sweet delusion
Of my foreboding
Of my trifling will
Confirmed and destroyed in the act
Of its idea, the highest and most helpless
Of all the twinklings, that one with the lady
Givoe who is embracing us and keep us astray
But what I’m saying
Tomorrow Yoshie, Amy,
Will return from country
Where they should have planted rice
In most precise stripes
That will melt
After giving birth to
That grain which is my nourish
But also my death
July 14th, 2016
Light
The glow of the bones dancing in the joints, the lice soaked in salt
Knock in the cavity of the ampoule, behind the Paddy, in the Rain
They blow like broken arches, sparkling, in the old eras, it soaked itself like dew this old
hollow body to these bones broken by the cold of its lovers, in the caves where the
ungenerated limbo, self accomplishes all the life and its return to the non-born, when
Ambrosia was shining on the gems and small worlds were groaned wrapped in cloth.. The
little ones did not have mothers, they had no care, but they had a threshold that was worth
more than a thousand oceans and skies and rapids and Eddy, in the joints of the old bones of
the Earth, the serpent revolted, more and more clinging to the illusion that we do not fear
because it brings a degree above the real, yet old stimulus severes the mind clinging to the
moaning image..
But I didn’t bring this ardor on the bitter rapids to let him die in the rapids..
Yes, I threw the abandoned sternum and the square old bones that subdued of sparkling
silence now that I have also abandoned the pivot of my infamous body and I transpaio in
what I have never been, veins that hurt and blood that thinly shakes the prey, when this dies
in the stones brought from the sea , on the current of broken bones, which grind grain, and
waves, and bitterness and foams and blood and Lena..
I thought far to the hour, I have not discovered anything, the time is great tyrant who jumps,
ignores the jet of the current and always gazes at himself, as snow, as dozed in his vain
mirages..
I listened in vain to the current of the hours, of the broken bones and sedimented in the
veins of years, of decades, miracles.. Who passed undisturbed as I was horribly empty, on
the ascent, on a collision course, as I saw the hand of Dead.. And the flowers and their
iniquity, the fleeting impermanence of the billings that enveloping life and who wants to call
this life a rottening life, who gives life to the concepts, without abandoning the concepts..
And what has passed was forever declared destroyed in the ashes of the winds bearers of
sadness.. The bones, fragment of self that extinguished is already bran in the sea of
glaciation, immoteness, bones that are subdued on the bottom, and iodine, and calcium and
iron and magnesium and cream of the sea that smoothen all the asperities and sulkiness ,
behold, they have become the part of the non-existence
They are crabs and octopus that are also part of themselves
Xiamen November 25, 2018
