una herradura en el camino.
La experiencia nos encuentra.
No pasa nada.
Tu olor al bajar la escalera.
Historia de La Traviata,
la incomodidad de los espejos,
exitoso fracaso.
Los regalos
de las circunstancias,
tal como son.
Miedo como excusa,
de lo que es ajeno a mí,
como el reloj.
Mis excesos te gustan.
Bailo descalza sobre la tierra.
Imagen con vida en mis párpados,
siento que ya está el espacio.
Cambio la bombilla.
Hoy escucho canciones prohibidas.
Huir.
Hambre.
Yo,
raíz.
raíz.
Si te acercas, vuela.
Veo luces de colores.
Aplauden mi silencio
Besos a puertas cerradas.
Parte y todo.
Gorgoritos en el mar.
Seco se dibuja el esqueleto.
Árbol caído,
borrando huellas.
borrando huellas.
Raíces fuera.
Fusión de colores.
Comienzos.
Me adelanté a la luna.
Cuando menos te lo esperas.
Acumulo desorden,
abstracto.
Todo va hacia un punto,
con notas discordantes.
Silencio prudente.
Quiero lo que suceda.
Sólo,
todo eso.
Ser tela al viento al borde del precipicio.
Obstáculos para prestar atención al camino.
Códigos que hablan solos.
¿Hace cuanto que no tocas un muro?
"Una posición única.
Sentada"
Sentada"
..-Y antes, entró una golondrina.
Nubes,
blancas,
que caen al suelo.
*
Croak,
a horseshoe on the road.
The experience finds us.
Nothing happens.
Its smell when going down the stairs.
History of La Traviata,
the discomfort of the mirrors,
successful failure,
Gifts
of the circumstances
as they are.
Fear as an excuse,
of what is foreign to me,
like the clock.
My excesses
... You like them.
I dance barefoot on the ground,
image with life on my eyelids,
I feel that space is already there.
I change the bulb.
Today I listen to forbidden songs.
Run away.
Hungry.
I, root.
If you approach, it flies.
I see colored lights.
They clap my silence
Kisses behind closed doors.
Part and everything.
Trills in the sea.
The skeleton is drawn dry.
Fallen tree,
erasing footprints.
Roots out.
Fusing colours.
Beginnings.
I overtook the moon.
When you least expect it.
I accumulate disorder,
abstract.
Everything is going to a point
with discordant notes.
Prudent silence.
I want what happens.
Only,
all that.
To be fabric in the wind at the edge of the precipice.
Obstacles to pay attention to the road.
Codes that talk
How long have you not touched a wall?
"A unique position. Sitting"
...And before, a swallow entered.
Clouds,
white ones,
that fall on the ground.
blancas,
que caen al suelo.
*
Croak,
a horseshoe on the road.
The experience finds us.
Nothing happens.
Its smell when going down the stairs.
History of La Traviata,
the discomfort of the mirrors,
successful failure,
Gifts
of the circumstances
as they are.
Fear as an excuse,
of what is foreign to me,
like the clock.
My excesses
... You like them.
I dance barefoot on the ground,
image with life on my eyelids,
I feel that space is already there.
I change the bulb.
Today I listen to forbidden songs.
Run away.
Hungry.
I, root.
If you approach, it flies.
I see colored lights.
They clap my silence
Kisses behind closed doors.
Part and everything.
Trills in the sea.
The skeleton is drawn dry.
Fallen tree,
erasing footprints.
Roots out.
Fusing colours.
Beginnings.
I overtook the moon.
When you least expect it.
I accumulate disorder,
abstract.
Everything is going to a point
with discordant notes.
Prudent silence.
I want what happens.
Only,
all that.
To be fabric in the wind at the edge of the precipice.
Obstacles to pay attention to the road.
Codes that talk
How long have you not touched a wall?
"A unique position. Sitting"
...And before, a swallow entered.
Clouds,
white ones,
that fall on the ground.
