My soul is black
and everything that the immobile air whispers
jealously
behind the porch
is true
is little
is short
and pale
White
is my soul
primary milk
whose importance I know
when prevailing traits of grief
of regret
of fear
continues its advance
delicate
Soul, soft and promising seed of all life
is that
is
what awaits
-in the background, in the immediacy-
from my chest
is
what I keep
and what I exhale
My soul is half polychrome
and invisible
(Parenthesis) 2
The softness of these nervous and gray clouds
promotes in me waves of tenderness
of which everything
and everyone
are recipients
I see those agitated, restless volumes
I see they are more afraid than us
they fear more to the cold
to download
to get rid of
They will pass from this condensed reality
in the midst of quiet panic
to a fragmented calm, dream of another world
nourishing, terrestrial
the green fragrances
Once again, from the permutated gray
to the direct valuation of polychromy
losing his life
arises
the cyclical miracle
Open
and hug me
as to everything
and everyone
softening the mud of souls
(Parenthesis) 3
Yesterday
she
fell silent
she
her voice
unique
Her voice could have said everything
but, without listeners
spilled forever
when the amphora
broke
thanks to the absent weight of the soul
There is no news
of condom hands that have been transferred
not the slightest particle of her voice
unique
to another vessel
I wish I had been close
even if it was like dust
to absorb
something
only a little
Yesterday fell silent
her unique voice
it was lost forever
and also something of mine
although maybe they are not true neither one thing nor the other
(Parenthesis) 4
He arrived in a ghost ship
He released the moorings at one end of the dirty harbor
as soon as the miserable fisherman saw it
it vanished
more than ungraspable
Approached in a balloon
he greeted the breaking of some sad branches
offered to be made to the corrupted Earth
but more could the ether
with his irresistible call
Under the urban labyrinth
in a concert of leprous drops
tried to leave the shadowy exile
and the anti-creatures
bit his life
Once
someone
set out to be
and ended up abandoning
to the flight
(Parenthesis) 5
Stalking
The torn voice of a shuddering flower
despotic winds
tragedy
winds, yes
finisecular doubts
lying
that return
all that is outside of me
I am a seed sure to carry
life
Although the sadness wants to pluck me until the children
for making me its prey!