miércoles, 29 de abril de 2015

In the labyrinth of her body

In the labyrinth of her body, her heart was a big cave full of echoes.
Every dawn, a sea of bats came back from the night.
The wind ran across her lungs.
Sometimes soft wind and caress, sometimes tornado and explosion, almost always lullaby and rocking.
The river of her veins was a labyrinth of mute currents pulsating a primitive rhythm.
Some days, red turmoils are formed here and there.
A cavern of sharp crystals is found in the basin of her liver.
A river of bile sometimes runs through: hate, rancor and remorse.
Lost in an idea, twisted and climbed cerebral circumvolutions.
It flew over her thoughts: it was mist, electric impulse and shinning.
A sea of fiber and meat was shaking and expanding.
Waves in the heart go up and down along with the guts and the bones.
Lean muscle and movement.
Made of silk and electric current, her skin is a map of scars, sensations, pleasure and air.
It is a mirror and a constellation of freckles.
Silence and spark, the web of nerves is switched on and off endlessly.
If we ever shine it is because of their light, if they are switched off darkness arrives.
Full of mineral and time they are our history.
They speak about our movement: they will be the dust when once we are gone.

miércoles, 22 de abril de 2015


He slept under the bridge and in broad daylight in a park.
He smelled flowers and rubbish, perfume and death, desert and shadowed field.
He climbed towers, went down the underground and its basements.
He navigated on streets and avenues, slow and quickly, under the sunray and against the moon.
He heard screams, howls, crickets, tweets.
He lived the silence and the crash, the rust and the crystal, the day in the night and the darkness in broad daylight.
He paraded and was many steps, many hearts, many hands, many causes, many fights. He screamed and the concrete towers remained silent.
He became dustcloud, paper in the wind, the howl of the wind.
He entered niches, rooms, apartment blocks, courts, squares and alleyways.
He heard the walking of the rivers. Rivers of blood, cries and semen. Rivers of sweat and searching. Rivers inside the air, the soil, inside the heart and the gaze.
He became city, concrete and asphalt.
He felt its loneliness, its crowd and its never-ending light.

He flowed in its history and its corrosion.

miércoles, 15 de abril de 2015


Vértigo, mareo y la sensación de hundirse y perderse. Estamos conectados por la respiración. Por un momento, la vida radica en ese espacio.
Labio a labio, respiración a respiración. Los labios se deslizan por la piel. Es el vapor hablando, leyendo la piel, dejando rastros. Un velo que enciende.
Una historia trepa sobre las paredes y ventanas, gota a gota, gemido a gemido. Cada gota es una palabra que no fue necesaria, nunca usada. Vaporosa.
Dos cuerpos yacen en la cama, tocándose mutuamente y a sí mismos, conscientes de la piel de cada uno. Conscientes de su respiración, ese aire que vuelve a la vida.

Mirando el jardín a través de la ventana y a través del tiempo. Perdida y añorando, una melancólica respiración empaña el vidrio. Todas las memorias se evaporan.