In my head at night I'm a masterpiece, I compose the symphonies for which I would have been burned, I create the science for which we would have evolved. 

At night I'm a challenger, that is to say, I'm a God, my mind conjures words that my mechanical fingers can't articulate. 

At night the city is a whisper, it's the brush of the wind with the asphalt, the echo of the footsteps of thieves, the horn through empty streets. It's the moment in which poetry exhales, and I'm not outside, nor inside, I'm still, I'm on the balcony and in my bed with closed eyes. Feeling the cold of the buildings cutting the heights of the clouds, the heat burning in the fire of the chimneys, I become the mixed laughter and the noise of the voices that my mind is building. I'm an orchestra of what I don't know, I only feel, and it's that the city, the world, is hanging by a thread. 

It's the climax and the baby is about to cry, the tea takes three minutes to be ready, but my fingers don't rush in picking up the plume, my tongue doesn't bite itself in remembering, my mind recites the great promise of it all. And my eyes, my closed eyes, carry it all to the dreams of the night and bury it in the oblivion of the unknown.

TA.

I read poetry, and it isn’t about anyone anymore (I mean you, but) it’s all so bizarre, like a new tongue and palate (like forgetting you for the last time, like)

that time someone mentioned my name and I learned how to modulate

And now I no longer dream about you, it’s more (white landscape, walks, no one and me and you), are the air (I believe) you are the snow (It seems to me), you are the leaves (I doubt it)

I don’t know, there is no poetry that could encapsulate you and at midnight (sunrise), with tired eyes (defeated) I think I want to see you and remember you. As you were

(yesterday) and today, but (but)

I don’t know where to see you

(I don’t know in which poet I could find you)

I don’t know in which corner to look for you

(Everything is a blur)

And tomorrow you were a certain bet (yesterday you are a constant doubt) and today you are just a second thought.

And I’m not mad (I’m not happy) I’m not bitter (I’m in doubt) if ever (at any moment) I'll have created a poem (where another me) could remember you.

TA.

I’ll know how many freckles he’ll have

Next time I’ll be able to write odysseys of how she pronounces her S

I’ll memorize all the laughs he’ll let me hear

I’ll learn all the colours that she doesn’t like in the world

I’ll study the lines of their hands to make a map of our reunion

I’ll know which eyelashes are older than the newer ones, and I’ll name each wish: "Please don’t leave."

I’ll kiss each petal that bears the memory of how he tied his shoelaces in three different ways

I’ll jump all the odd numbers of the hopscotch to know what music put them to sleep

I’ll scream in every avenue of green light to know what name she gave herself

I’ll stay in the silence of mass in order to see every wound they forgot about their body

I’ll translate every Latin to Romance just to know how he cooks his lunches

What I’m

saying is

that

I’ll sit thousands of hours in the rain, thunder, and hail in order to know how she called me before she knew me.

TA.

I’m sitting on a cliff, which is a stair (it will always be and is a stair) I have the cigarette in my throat, the fire is my fingers and the cancer is my life. 

People pass by (or not) (I don’t know) (A lot doesn’t matter now) and everything is happening in a heartbeat of a heartbeat (of another heartbeat), and I’m wet, dirty, defeated, tired, yawned upon and murdered. 

I’m sitting with my legs shaking, my veins singing and my bones burning, I am “Enough, I’m done because every night thanking God for another day feels like a confession I never wanted to make.”

And that’s why I’m sitting on the stairs that take me to cars that lead me to death and pain and break and end.

And you wanted to know how it is, but not how it looks, so still, at this moment of my life my smile is sewn, and I’m sitting with an absence in my chest. People happen around me, and I’m destroying myself because it hurts to feel my blood run, to hear my heartbeat, and to be the witness of all, and for that, I’m sitting. 

Because it’s an electric chair, that if I move I die, and I’m a statue without money, that doesn’t blink, breathe, or call for attention. Because the lion is the Grim Reaper and the gazelle, it’s me sitting and traumatized by everything that I know that I don’t feel, but that frightens me. 

TA.

I want my hands to be hot iron and that your skin desires my touch, I want you to be dust and my fingerprints to be the evidence that condemns me.

I want you to be in the Bible as sin and to be bathed in holy water because I want you to be everything that was ever forbidden and kills me. Because you have an ice cream smile in the sun and the voice of the gospel of the church. But I want you to be an unspeakable pain, that the penitence doesn’t compare to the blessing of knowing your taste and scent. 

Since I’m willing to put my chest in front if that wins me a little more time because I want to hear you recite the entire dictionary in order to have your ghost in my memory. 

I want you to drive me mad and for all my art to be a reflection of your gaze in oceans that don’t get storm clouds and I want my lips to be bathed in your acid so as to never kiss other than you. 

TA.

Everything lights out, steps walking away and back in the form of a torn soul, and I’m crying without tears. 

Because the way it's built is how there isn’t enough to make crumbles, since all is smoke and curtains made of bombs that don’t look for survivors. Because I was made from a human mind without consciousness other than the echo of the destruction that is lights out, knees to the chest and defeated eyes. 

TA.

Lets raw everything up

It's the balance between everything and nothing

It’s why it's called a club

It’s that only the ones with a key get in

And it’s heartbreaking knowledge that shouldn’t have an explanation

Just inhale and understand that there are things that the times don’t change

And you see My Love I do not regret because I know everything and I know nothing and if you saw Into my eyes there would be a smile in tears because the narration is all the guessing that you need and

Let’s put everything on the table 

They know everything and deny everything because there is happiness and conformity and need in it

Because they have the understanding of the one given up for dead in a blizzard, and they don’t know loneliness in company but in synonym

However My Love

The truth is that you understand everything and I nothing.

TA.