Pure heart for every insult
In the true space, controlled
Thinner and less tired
Covering with quartz each smile.
The unending task and patience escaping
Until the rhythm defends subtlety
Not allowing to be wet by the rain
Or the eyes confused by any flash.
No one at home, not even emptiness
Opening the world to be scrutinized
Chewing thorns of entire rosebushes
It demonstrates to rigidity the immensity of will.
The air of braves
That from fear makes flames
That takes care or neglects
Like when someone is in charge of an image.
Looking tears turned to crystal
Dropping from violet clouds
And they dissipate unbroken
They give steps to clamor of the outrage.
In the way of faithful people
Listening to the song of their fellow men
Trying to accompany but not listening
Because for the price of loneliness overruns company.
And the gift you offered to me ignoring
And the appreciation that is located outside the world
And that part of my lips sealed
In which the silence and the word are fused.
Ending and beginning
Ecstasy in the midst of fatigue
The throat hoarse from screaming silently
The convergence of the suns of Giordano.
The ruminant skin that will become a scroll
Under the attentive watch of the scribe
The predicted twist in the heart
When comprehension is possible
Like the effort of two different persons
They make possible delivery and acceptance of the post
Discovering the veil that hides the art
Of two moments that together creates the future.
And the feeling that all pains are justified
And the temptation of an instant when all is worthwhile
And the wisdom to contain without repressing the impulse
And the limit that remains at the limit without ignoring.
The green expression of lust
The green description of hope
The red of nature and of normality
The red of the rule bleeds instinct and reason.
The seat or the throne
The table without a head
The dream of power
That dreams it can’t any more.
In the hands that can be broken
In the plexus than can be divided in ten thousand shards
In the moon smiling at celestial vanity
In the truth of colors for who was born blind.
Because once dead, senses of living people take care for them
Because in burning logs is implied home
Because what is left aside creates a task for the meticulous
Because nobody is superfluous in a script with a perfect plot.
For somebody who is nobody
For an objective that isn’t a goal
Because there are opposites and way outs
Because there is something more after each word.
The Trinity in the veins
In the channel once created and then generated
In the sample and the copy
In the drawing animated in the soul of who draws it.
Here, the slow stream
Where the unimagined arises
The space opened and the point which doesn’t fix it.
Without freedom because they weren’t chains
Without joy because it wasn’t sadness
The simple and impossible pressure
The divine forge fed from the whole.