Ouragans en lune argentée

a) Ouragans en lune argentée

And so, as the vampire of time and memory came to visit me
while the mercurial glass indicated the auric minute of the fever
the blue corner where the fat hurricames develop
showed its face of cement at this belittled room petrified

small hurricames, tenderized in their domestic mannerism

belittled room of mine, paralyzed, roca aerolítica, standing still.


And this black emissary in the night he showed me, to my surprise
how the heavy path knits its dusty descensus
while, opening his ample window-wings, he spoke at the churning space:
"One thing is clear, my dear: it's all down hill, from here"

enormous wings, glassy and flat in their translucent erection

fried air of this room of mine, motionless, mormoso, eternál surely.



And did you know that the hurricames didn't stop incurvating their phantasmal humanity full of rags hanging?

That night

this night

at this dwarfed room embalmed

fossilized by the love of a purely intellectual God

and the vampire of oblivion, and my human idiocy, and the Styx

and you.


Hurricames, hurricames, hurricames all around
frizzing under a silver moon, maldita, hija de puta.






And then, as the mosquito of chronometer and paramnesia stopped visiting me
while the meatballs of destiny announced their death toll
that unplumbed abismo where my past life grows typhoon
waved goodbye to this bony bedchamber, perpetuated by headless torsos

yellow typhoon, invulnerable in its nickely coldheartedness

ossified bedchamber of mine, conserved intact by deformed dolls, suspended.





b) Addendum of the imperfecto

"For X reason that afternoon-night the old voice talked to me
and prophesized the voice, prophesized
this old impersonal voice, like a Cassiopeia of steel, steel the vox was

and in the vaticination she predicted a future full of useless money and lacerating emptiness on European streets
for me.

For unrequired reasons, that afternoon-night, the old voice spoke
to me, she spoke, crystal gazed
this ineffable perverted voice that we all know

and I replied:
"Intriguing fate you give me, I didn't ask exactly for this, do I want this?
Enigmatic destiny you seal on my forehead, and oh the irony: did I ask for this?"




Certainly you witnessed how -as my awakening grew taller- the voice vanished melted in the fragile futile vigil

"I am sorry, I'm not worthy either... I promise I'll keep on making mistakes" 
-I remember I said-

the fury of your eyes and the world's eyes fell on me, like a fist of dragona furente

if my memory doesn't fail, this room started getting full of Apollo, because a new day broke: 
900 metres away, the Cantabrian naked sailors shouted ready to hunt the Aphrodite of the sardines."





c) Huracanes en luna plateada