To your Grace*

Into the shade of roses I desired to hide

But I fell asleep in a book
Open on a poem about a t(ort)u(rer)tor

Poets of long ago

Under shadows and soil
Count they on seraphim
On somberness, on window panes
On doors pried open and the secret of life
On branches of cypress that lure with silence
And long, northern morning under harps

At the wane of sight

Let quietude rip out the truth
Sang of stone

*Addressed to the readers

1
Sorrow is hidden in a head crowned in blood
Towards the wisdom called Jerusalem
You are killing the man who listens to the distance
Is “Ecce Homo” truly there
The higher hierarchy of Spain
While time flows despair descends to hemorrhage
Never painfully, not admitting pain
A bird I am
A bird with a desire to die in Spain.

I will write in the report

She is hiding in soft fruits
Mortified Julia Burgos

Otherworldly memory ticks away six o’clock

2
Vanity on the fox’s trail
Behold, a miracle!
Supposedly one-sided at instants
Suitable for a scrambled moment
The martyr and her daughter who wash their feet
Tasseled with nails instead of sandals
Conversing silently.
Anything but sough
Shores and scrapings fantasizing
Daughter do you wish the powder to slip you
To disturb the onus, non-being and tendrils
Wistful across the stones you overcome
Blacker than night
You fear there will no longer be vertebrates

It is the third hour in the night After

3
You do not grasp – the spilled blood is chiming
From unveiling you wrongfully dread
In agony of you yourself
While we pine atop Grecian terraces.

Daughter
Still rivers are audible in endeavor
And at that conjoined

In mirrors is the road to land of dead

And worshippers of the chronometer
And the unachievable bloom of summer

Put the pigeon on the fire my daughter

We are going to satiate ourselves
Grasshoppers as well my daughter
Before they abandon us through the windows

I forefeel that the unreliable man

quiets his breath and embarks on the way
of Beauty, Ordinance and Wars

The signs along the path are the only thing left for you

4
Thus spoke my mother.

Seek no longer the soil

Forgotten among the trees
Under which you were born

In the chosen night

When the grasshoppers flew away from the terraces
Into the heap of voices filled with hatred
Directed towards me
Silent mother
Not even a sound to flicker within me
How could I have known
About the other side of maps

Are they coming yet to take me

Rooted in the last morning of a bullet

I arise barefoot
The sea is frightened
Like ground from thunder

5
Even though not every wound bleeds
Still
A man dies each eve
Why

6
The semi-darkness and solitude will vanish
I will serve alone within myself even thought I am not my own
Before wounded knees everything opens
Flowers and thoughts, stories of justice
Wanton skulls and eras without rest

God will punish me I know

But in the cramp of passion
I will not be broken by those absent

We danced the whole day

The solitude anew embraced by valleys
Above the springhead
And sin to people

I get scared to be

7
I would be your shadow
And the bridal veil
And first scream
A crime of passion
And the blood of both times, ill and well

It is better to get frightened

The secret of the fern both was and was not
And fear
From somewhere the solitude burns untainted

Confined in the stars within me

I still love with my eyes
Without love the darkness will disseminate me

8
In the bed I do not rely on commandments
The roses already fraught with wind
How many clocks do you ask
While the morning overladen with eternity is late
Delirium morning

They foresee the end of the world

Through star gates
They will wish to open them, open them they will not be able to
They will wish to close both them and the road
The poems shall herald the dead
The dead and the living will depart for false mouth
Without a single sense

My God sleeps murmuring prayers

After which I inherit sadness, wind, mountains, birds
Yet hands and bole resist

I do not fear bullets

And horseman of the apocalypse
But you
My beloved Father

9
There will be time for me to tell you
Will the words spin tomorrow as well
And will the essence be the thread

Stooped candelabrums stalk me

Between yearning and fear
Between passion and constancy
Always present while you sleep restlessly
There where the beginnings end

Solitude too has been captured, molded and limited

And her contents gnawed off in the tempest
Where the beginning and the end meet
Each full moon

10
Another dream

The scream of three children among the leaves

Close to the waterfall and the abyss
Roses too close to them
Should I follow them or overlook them

Strange decisions
And children miracles with no self-belief
In due time the ground and constellations should be known
So the last revelation
Is not empty time
And crucified echo of footsteps in seclusion

11
There will be time for me to tell you everything

We quail, not live.

We dance on rugs of fern
In rhythm of the certainly dead

Beware the tear of the lunatic and bridges with no fences

Victims and solitude of the prayer
Patting on the shoulder
And emptiness in which the counselors die

Beware
Do not be found again

We quail
In the meantime we do not live

12
Between spring and winter
White and black
The heart and tavern with a lowering vine level
Between the masked and the broken
Unreal and the tower of inverted eyes
Between the universe and “may I”
The city harlequin and “it paid of”

Between “somewhat” and existence

I was soothed by the cry and fasting
I bow to you
I plead you help
Lady of silence, fire and temptation

13
Go into the calm autumn
Late serenity, do not go into the fever
queen of giggle indecisively you will say:
When in Singidunum I arrived searching for a foreign world
I did not see what was imagined
But a fresh drop of blood down the leg
And an untrained word with no will to be spoken

Forest nightingale
If you can sing at midnight
I will hear you here
Between the nightly joy and dawn

14
How fast the shadow passes said Marco Aurelius
Soul is temporary, isn’t it, he hoped
Banded with demons for the third time
The guilt his pustule, man a sacrifice and life a sub specie of a boil

Discontent is what is perfect

Since ancient times you cannot lose what you did not have
Ponder

If you separate yourself once

If you learn about the inherited justice of pain
Can poison and arson be useful
Have you not become too lenient Marco Aurelius
Before divisions and longings
Provoked on purpose

Today things are completely open

Until the bloodthirsty wind knocks them down
And carries them away into tomorrow which will not be

For that, Marco Aurelius, whenever you look at yourself

Remember if the shape is an obstacle to the essence
And answer who is the bigger liar
The dream or the shadow in the mirror

15
When will the nothingness begin
When will we hear the echoes of the morning
Devoid of celerity, love and wisdom

The hour will come

To be concurrent
To be silence and flash
To be collision and creation
So through the moment of nothing
You would be born to this world

From then spread through the taste of nothing

Like waves of the water

16
Cover your lips and hails
Inhale the odor of wind and change
Pry open the little casket
Let all things fly out
Both peaceful nights and lullabies

Renounce them
Confusion and long nights are coming

If you wish for whispers and thick shelters

Beware
Dream is a famous sower
In the age of new illusions
Which virgins turn to life

17
Why are there no borders
Between lies and life
Before the virginal knees

I was born in the dalliance of light and shades of the waterfall

And waited to bite the fruits
Through one world or a century

And they were bitter inside

I return to the scent of home

The island which swims through night and water

18
The fever has no end
The song was left without sound and fire
The mists do not care to be praised
Hence the difference is null between water and mud

A girl with no stronghold is in tears

While the wall of homeland withers

19
I persistently graze words
Day and night
First I seek them
Recognize them even among lizards
Who announce misfortune
And even though they are vainly
You want time and roads
And blue circles above the wellsprings of rapid rivers

You children of moonlight

I a lonely stalk
You memorized colors
You poets, which I am yet not

I the amorous Pan

Not knowing how to say wasteland on your language
Marked to sing I yearn for East
Where I could burn myself
And turn into a star
Like Quetzalcoatl*

(If I could only sway

for a moment
not even music is neccessery)

*Quetzalcoatl – a mythical being of Toltec, originaly a ruler and high priest, and later on
a patron god. By the tale, he burned himself and became a star

20
How joyous are the echoes of the plains when meeting water
Treetops spun
Underneath them huddled the river and I
Not for long

The music of fear and the crack of thunder

Raise the waters against us
Unknown to us until then
Alike my Yesterday and Today
I am imprisoned
So I do not go to where the waters overflow
Making our destination
About a law of merged vessels

It is all the same to me

A Samaritan has died

I will go into the desert

I will make myself a mask and summon the rains

Does the Great eye see us

21
Do not forget
Water is a wave to emptiness
Water is the fall through metaphors
Which begs the mirror
To return
To the lacking places of the poem

Only that my dream

Is not brought to bottom

22
I will never tell
How a sleepwalker smells
Capable of being awake

I will never fall asleep

I am afraid of thoughts

What do they wait

Those who remember my words
They are a crumbling stone

23
I squint through the grid
Sweeping
Are the murmurs of childhood
Symbols of intimacy
And dreams
One by one
One by one
And time became
Time on the other side of the wall
And of life behind us

24
I like midnight without fatigue
And love without thinking
Devoured lips
Between sleepy trees and dawn

I am the child on the backs of clouds

I do not wish for the sound to go too far
Nor the lighthouse to be lost in the dark
Nor guards who watch over my secrets
(nor triumphal arches of mud)

I wish for a shirt of silver

To hide the peregrine views
I wish for your eyes only between the walls

I had enough of those confused and howling in the night

And those who seek me and fall asleep before they find me

25
Night and an open door
Spook takes over my head
I see your eyes
Judgment hour – accurately measured moment burns away
I see your eyes
They do not belong to me alone

I threw my soul
Those are the irises of the breeze – yell the dark mirrors
Used up voices grow from blood
They knock over trees by crawling

You return
Roughly wetting the sanctity of my lips
I
Mute and stiff on the threshold
Bitten by the first pain
I spew snake venom

Those are perhaps the silence of your hate and my oblivion

In truth
Neither you, neither me, neither communion

Neither sailors
Left on the lost spectral shores
Neither the cry of ships in the night
Or is it a song of violent love

She is never left voiceless

Even when unheard

The forests sleep

Not knowing
About the terrified grass
And its sigh

Especially
In time of wind
And herbal precipitations

27
The silence of the stone sleepers
And the tricked audience

I say nothing before the mute sounds

I foresee fever
I guard you from silence
And city spies in bloom
Even though eyewitnesses keep us apart

The disappearance of colors

Turns Day into night
And the broken into rock

Into the ninth hour

28
Painted corpses are unweaving
I have not yet submerged them all
Much like the history of the black scarf
Ready to move time and air

During this
Year of one thousand nine hundred and ninety five
It is hard to silence the cry above mortuary reports
The woods and the grass still sprout from the once living
Because they are the most reliable

Those who came point-blank from the green memory

And tombs before oblivion
Negotiate with the heavens

We are watched by the living and dead

If the dead weren’t alive
We would all be left without tongue and tribe
Are they not your doubles too
Do perhaps the living originate from weakness
When in absence
They give themselves to each other

29
The dread of dead birds
In the ambient of a stake-out
Is the song of blood

Exists
A slightly higher pitched thought
Like the distances
Lave themselves with silence

Sail away eyes down Attila’s ill-whirlpools

Dig out the birds
Which are self-sufficient
Convinced
That the most beautiful voices
Reach
From dead lines in the ground

We need them
At the beginning and the end of love
We always summon them then

30
Calderon said: life is a dream
A deceptive escort between two awakenings
Neither life nor death
Nor something third
Neither life after death
Nor death before life
And it dies among hour hands
Before it spends the night in our bodies

Segismundo chained by precarious stars in vain

Announces a great illusion
And circles of mute dreams
After one thousand and two hundred nights
I see my bones peering in the gardens
If eternity would rule before the dawn
Perhaps it would cure the loneliness

31
Two embraced clouds
Perhaps even two birds
Or a known scarf in a knot
Or a dream between two shapes

The blood isolated itself in vain

And silence with the shadow
Bursting are the coils and godless blows
Which I do not understand
As well as the absent sound I follow
While the clouds do not move

32
The shadow recedes
And the seraphim are lost
Biting within themselves on all corners of the world

Where shall I go if the dark dream overpowers me

And the vampire

The spectra of your life has not yet vanished

Like the spear stabbed
Into the eyes of the idolater

33
The moon slides down the glade
But the crossroads is still in twilight
Out of which boney hands and witch chants
Would have your bareness in a cramp

A sigh under the cape of jealousy

Listen
Do not wait for the Sun without shadow
It does not differ a harlot
From a drowning woman upon a shore

May the kiss of poetics

Release your thigh to my lips
May the shriek silence everything
Except the gentleness of a fresh prepared rain

I do not regret
That the river sand will cover every stanza

34
Lyrics belong to everyone
Not even by escaping can you avoid her heaviness
So do not rush to anywhere
Do not feel the abdomen of the dark with your fingers

Somebody will die during the first twilight

And I will write about comets
Deprive the bread in your hands
And prepare the plowed land
For the dead of rosy lips to breathe

Sleep peacefully
I will counterfeit whatever is necessary
I will kill the chickens if the roses don’t stop them

You find those who accused us

35
Stopped by the fear of waiting
You do not grow
Not even into a dream catcher

When you pass over a flame with a flame

Behind you the void and wind
Become the connection of unreal knots

36
Glass panes beautify life and love
Let them try to break the lens of our homes
And flowerpots fizzing with flowers of sin

You who laugh showing your black teeth

Your greed and dread are in vain
If your face falls asleep in a broken mirror

It does not matter

I am away into the north whose absence is meaningful
Into silence and cold
Where only the trees resemble humans
37
Blindness – the fate of the damned one
Hush – the habit of a killer
And dream – the wake of a mortal

It could have been three men

Merged with their eyes
Even though one of them is the blind man

To encounter a man with all his senses is a rarity

Because the road is not marked
Yet
If you do not see
Or do not dream
Or do not know how to keep quiet

38
I believe in the divinity of death
And the truth of demons
Because within them beauty deafens

Nature is capable of killing

Without reconsideration
To separate the same shadows

Eyes of mine
I do not care when I will die
Your tricks cannot console me no more

Nature can punish the curious

Independently from sin
Only for the illusion and the truth never to meet

39
Tonight the purple insides of the clouds
Awakened the obedient dead
Who raised their heads
Leaned on their boney hands

They do not know if they are alive or dead

They heard trumpets on the first day
And fell asleep under flags and clouds
Under which they breathed for the first time
Instead under the stars

On the second day without believing in their existence

Silence and flowers were published

In the meantime the sky was diving into the twilight

And on the third day

The dead celebrated the vigilance of the parade

40
The valley of verses still lures
Daughters of light in Luna’s dresses
Sisters to themselves
Noiselessly they hail for each other in the world
And invite me into their circle of dance

I accept the hand of one of them

Cumbersome
I trip

In vain
Strained steps do not estrange
From abysses and focal points

41
Missing – omnipresent
Their cry resembling a nocturno

While the rose of life frozen inside the truth of mirrors

Restless
On plateaus atop enchantments
Drips on the moss
And ruins of the world

42
Nine hours is sleeping
And the nine hour hands of the world

The mouth of leniency ran away

Like the flowers of the oranges
When they come to cut them
Even though unannounced

Besides, time, everything is in the sign of transience

Also the olive tree
That exhales under insects

Nevertheless
There is an answer for everyone
Scorn, love
Limited life
And stranded ships

43
Is it true Doubting Thomas
That they told him:
For your possession
From thine mouth you win a right
While your day is dieing

And he
Condemned to circumstances in verve
Becomes everyone who supports him
Far away from the roads that gnaw on non believers

And he
Does not answer to the first word, not even on the second he speaks
Only on the third humbly and considerately

And he
Knows this life is for the dead
And not for the living
Not even the wall blasphemes

And he
Begs for the transparent innocence with eyes of balm
And accomplishment of the desolate

And he
Even cares not to be returned among the people
Learning in prayer

Still one thing I do not believe you

I do not believe you saint Thomas
That comfort is not sufficient
Invented in the shape of a woman