Queens Marriage License

The suit smoke and cobwebs broken allowing
-ever cross but never free-
these half open cracks in the walls those whose exile is the other side;
nettles hat for insomniacs force of dreams to nightmare,
or the other, like a swarm furious, calling the sparks of madness and fever;
gloves bark and open wound who get everything rub
and better palpated the bed coals where it incubates the future;
feathered blast layer to rotate faster at the wheel of metamorphosis and be
hope for those regions where vacuum I
is lost and not hit bottom in another shelter and mixes the output;
and shoes, grass, needles, ants,
made to explore all the realms and breach borders. What workshop
unprecedented
my head! What costume
fable in the dressing rooms of the high voltages! How fragile
packaging is a wicked game of temptation and the challenge! I tried
dizziness, delusions, asphyxia,
agonies liturgical ceremonies adaptation as Purgatory
embroidered robes spells as holy;
wrapped me in visions unfinished
disturbing in light to blind guardian the fatuous reason;
covered with so many veils of absence my memory that barely woke up in my skin;
exile rehearsed cruises to other lost souls in the forest was
be others, to erase the seams of separations
-yes, a single tissue where all that exists were enrolled, an infinite canvas
Veronica transudate for God's blood.

sometimes picked up some tiny trophies
glassy sediment as frost flowers that dissolve under the tongue, foams
evaporate like spectral dust between the fingers,
flashes of light that would warn anyone in the sun,
reliquaries finally,
like those stones away from the sea to forget their brilliance.

urge got the answers from the shadows to the babble and collapse.
I overpowered the night I leaked out between his teeth;
adopted me as their usual food.
No more testing and scans networks golden legend.
No costumes to cover their retreat and evade the slogans.
Only the poor, naked seamless coat that sticks to my bones,
soon turns me inside out and drag me in,
step after step by step ending definitely blind.

I'm done with the same substance in the gulf and
craft against all my fall in the still darkness.

No. 17, reality Mutations (1979)

Paintinf Car With Brightsides

The reverse of the frame

difficulty,
as an amphibious animal tries to adapt to all the vagaries of the world, with my bread
absorb the masked distress insoluble food.
my skin is hardly suitable for the Sphinx excessive wear I live.
My head is narrow, but keep
capades venues to host cities in their fragile attic. My hands do not get
capture the visions that passed through my eyes or my feet
hit bottom in the boiling pool of my heart.
And what fierce rift between my tongue and any labyrinth of language!
Almost my whole being is invisible
a blade fold,
up to his limo in the immeasurable littleness.
The bulk of San Pedro shining in the keyhole;
Byzantium on a tear.

Daughter of confusion and darkness,
barely advanced to my letter of buildings and shipwrecks:
Caryatid carrying his Olympus senseless in the inner cloud, losing each grave
its tiny self as a stone of the great frieze,
a tiny fragment of eternity that rolls up to the limits of the world and collected
blindly, without hitting your site and your destination. Same

I welcome you to your imbalance and your disorder,
incredible existence
like you set exactly to fit my body and weight of my voice. Same
you Forsaken me in my challenge,
absurd life in shadows, like a child
intruder in this realm,
when interrogated in vain your face impenetrable, made of iron and wall.

You turn against me, you
stands as guardian of a shrine to move away from my feet,
captivate me in a black hurricane where tables are broken the law,
and leave me in suspense, hanging on the edge of the orphans and disaster,
when it crashed, displaying nothing in their curtains,
scenes and territories detached from the back of my plot.

Everything is possible, then,
all, except me.

No. 16, reality Mutations (1979)

Carbonation Digestion

Pavane for a dead princess

A Pizarnik

.
. Small
sentinel
fall once again into the slot on the night armed with nothing
eyes open and terror against invaders
insoluble in the paper.
They were legion. Legion

fierce was his name and multiplied as you until you unraveled the last basting
arrinconándote against predatory webs of nowhere.
He who closes his eyes became home of the whole universe.
The fact that trace the borders open and remains in the open.
who treads the line is no place. Insomnia
as tunnels to test the inconsistency of all reality;
night after night pierced by a single bullet that you embed in the dark,
and recognize the same test to awaken the memory of death:
this perverse temptation
that angel adorable pig snout. Who spoke
spell to counteract the injury of birth itself?
Who said anything about bribes Envoys for the own future?
only had a garden at the bottom of everything there is a
garden where you see the blue flower of Novalis sleep. Flor
cruel, flower vampire
more treacherous than the trap hidden in the wall plush
and never reached while the head or the rest of the blood in the doorway.
But as you lean to cut where you did not walk,
depths inward.
were trying to barter for the hungry creature you uninhabited.
devouring small castles erected in his honor;
you dressed in feathers shed from the bonfire of all possible paradise
tame animals to gnaw hazardous bridges of salvation;
you got lost like the beggar in the delirium of wolves I tested
languages \u200b\u200bsuch as acids, like tentacles,
as ties in the hands of the choke. Ah
the ravages of poetry cortándote wrists with the edge of dawn, those bloodless lips
and sipping the poisons of the inanity of the word!
And then no more.
bottles were broken.
lights are splintered and pencils.
is degarró Tear the paper that you slip into another maze.
All doors are to exit.
Now everything is the reverse of the mirrors. Small passenger
,
alone with your piggy and visions
same unbearable helplessness underfoot:
're certainly claiming to spend with your voices drowned
certainly stops you your own huge shadow that hovers over you still looking for another, or tremble
against an insect covered with membrane all the chaos,
or frightens you the sea that can be on your side in this tear.
But again I say, silence
now that envelops you twice in its wings like a cloak:
at the bottom of every garden is a garden.
There's your garden,
Talita Cumi.
.
.

No. 15, reality Mutations (1979)

Jenna Jameson Fireplace

Objects vampire lurking

Where wolves hide the danger its yellow?
There is not even a fold in the lining of the stationary current day
not a fleeting blow against the gentle reverie of things. No bite
;
nothing to open a gap in these areas who claim their place in the world: my domain
immune
sure my little daily against the invasions of the dark.
Yet the threat comes as an evil glare, as a strident
or suffocated;
perhaps as a beat to break the fragile shell of appearances.
the unholy rebellion has spread to my home tribe
used before the ritual of my hands and the look is not.
objects acquire a secret intention at this time that the gap portends a bright Exhale
utensils made for the alienation and loss,
hold their breath for the attack indecipherable
transform their offices in this exasperated, unhealthy geometry of suspense.
gargoyles are now.
alerts are idols dumb question my power uncertain.
law has been changed:
my possessions I witness.
creeds have been moved: the beautiful
compliance under the sun dies of suspicion. And no word
things return unharmed to their humble places. And no catechism
retract this strange assembly that haunts me, this cruel court
me out again an unrecognizable paradise regained
half each day.
.
.

No. 14, reality Mutations (1979)