El nacimiento de la lluvia

Cuando el nido
tiró su sangre en mí
nació la lluvia.

Crepitaba
humeante de polvo y grito.

Insincero
molesto
hervidor de asfalto
infecundo
atemporal
mortalmente contemporáneo.

Sed.

Sin embargo
en mí nació la lluvia.


2010, ahora mismo
FOTO: Lluvia, acuarela de Aitor Renteria

Mr. Sade, un marqués

“One little bird
sparrowed his sea
why he commit those crimes?”

no no no
he shouted once
at all those faces
he never saw

no no no
stop just there
and all those faces
started to laugh.

He was just there
in the middle of my dream
healthy & smiling
as he never could be
before.

RiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinGR!
where is the REALITY?
he cried when I woke up.

Hummmm
tostadas con dulce de leche y manteca, todo CASERO
¡Gracias Justine y Julliet!
¡Besos de Mrs Dallaway!


FOTO: Donatien Alphonse François de Sade, by Charles-Amédée-Philippe van Loo (c. 1761)

To James Joyce

there’s a boy boy
(oh boy)
he cried alone
poor boy oh boy
he found a song among a clown
and now you know
oh boy oh boy
he is not just one
no boy alone
he is now a song
your ding your dong

for a future future
among all the presents perfect
your din ding dong

my lonely boy
dinggggggggggggggggggg…………..dOng
his yellow song
oh boy! oh lord!
so alone he wrote his own
and now you know
his past was not
not perfect at all;
he cried alone
and now you know
he is now a SONG
your ding your dong

“who is
the king in Hamlet?”
Now I quit, your time to move.

he is now a haiku
(& I’m smiling)
that smells like…
hummm pasto recién cortado
Thanks Sylvia Plath!


FOTO: James Augustine Aloysius Joyce en 1918, by Wikipedia page