Entre montañas de verde vestidas en dulce niebla
Te encuentras
Unos pajaros revolotean en tu pelo
Y una flor desconocida enciende tu iris
Yo aqui en otra selva
Pensando en ti
No veo nada
A no ser de que me imagine ver a traves de tus ojos, no quiero otra cosa y agarro un baston para hacerme el ciego entre los edificios grises y el asfalto hirviendo un brevage que te intoxica hasta punto de hacerte olvidar el florecer de una flor o el perfume de hojas en el aire, y los colores de alas en corteo
Un vuelo de ojos entre ramas llenas de lluvia,
Te miran.
Y donde tu suspiro descansa
Hay miles de estrellas desparramadas en cada uno de tus pasos.
Palmas y
Rasgueo flamenco
Corre entre tus venas Hessianas.
Que arenas acarician tus pies? Si pudiera rezaria por vientos monzónicos para que se las llevé y de puros celos me pongo a soplar petalos de flor al viento; soplo dia y noche hasta que mis labios se convierten en petalos de amapola bañados en vino. Y yo aqui poniendo cientos de capullos de rosas en mi nariz para poder acordarme del perfume de tu piel.
Un canto de crystales reverberando entre piedras
Te llama
De noche caminas sobre una costa vaga del sol
Y te das vueltas pensando en mi vos llamandote a lo lejos.
Cuerdas
Un acorde mustio
La letra no escrita pero entonada
Que cancion en tu ausencia te puedo cantar para que te traiga a mis brazos? Que sonidos pueden mis manos rechinar para encantar un ave que lleve mi mensaje? E puesto algodon y miel en mis orejas para poder escuchar la dulzura y la suavidad de tu voz. Pero eso en fin me a robado de todos mis sentidos, menos uno. Es por eso que cada ves que pienso en ti, mis manos se mueven en el aire.
Lucas D'Allez 
My Teeth Are Gone
Down the riverbed
Dried but always nascent
This time of year.
Frogs underneath sleep a dream
Only perturbed by the percolating
Rainwater
with careful step, I feel them once again.
I am off to a quiet place.
The dunes, ahead,
Flank the bend
Of the riverbed
and I must turn left;
Once it straightens again.
My great grandfather first told me about this
When I was still holding my mother’s tail
And off he went,
Off to a quiet place.
If memory serves me right,
He looked at me the same way
That I am looking at my sons and daughters on this day.
We’ve wrestled through this path with countless marauders
These countless dry spells.
But I fear not for their safety…
I have taught them well.
Some are stronger than others and in this
I find rest.
So I stay behind as the riverbed straightens
Until a little one strays from his mother’s rear-end
It is they that, just as I had then, do not understand
But all my brethren will keep them safe
As I am off to a quiet place.
The trees bare the minutest leaves
In this patch of dry grass
They are easy on my stomach, in vain…
But I let melancholia
Run its course
Like the rain greens the land
I’ve always trekked
Where the elephant shrew makes its home
And I never see one twice,
But know of his mother’s scent.
I will not step on them,
Never have I
In these endless suns, neither will I today
On my way to a quiet place.
Bleached bones and hardened skin
Some have disturbed the sleep of my elders, family, and friends
I hope this is not my fate
This I know, I’ve passed through here forty suns ago
Because of lack of food and smoking thunders among the trees
But this does not stop me from lying down
My tired frame.
I have finally arrived to the place where my ancestors have gone
Once the river straightens
And the trees become few
Amidst the boulders that hide
Our bones from the winds.
Our quiet place.
2 Comments | tags: death, Elephant, elephant's memory, elphant shrews, farewell, Fiction, Fractals, graveyard, jumping shrews, Life, Literature, melancholia, Mental Travel, Pataphysics, Photography, Poem, Poetry, Sand, Short Story, Vagabond, wisdom, writing | posted in Bones, Bullet, Cattle, comments, Desert, Dream, Elephant, Eyes, Fact Fiction, Fiction, Frogs, Gamboge, Geography, Graveyard, Hot, Mental Travel, Nostalgia, pataphysique, Poem, poetry, Prose, Salt, Sand, Sentimentalist, Uncategorized