Poems in English


Sometimes it looks as if a rock

Is chiselling the sea

The sea the fish

The amphibians the earth

Each fire the water


It looks as if love is chiselling


The foot: distance

Artificial life: death

Each miscarriage:


Sometimes it looks as if

Time is chiselling


And only then

The model



As an accusation or category

Then a vertical universe

Penetrates itself

In a globe

The circle suffocates

But it includes quadrangles

And a square

Three dimensions

And one in excess

And each dimension

A full stop

And each full stop

The tip of a nose

Which is a semicolon

And follows the beginning

Or dots

Of a previous


In the beginning it was a mark

But in the end








All fish fell asleep

The same time

The same time

The same And ¾ they all turned

Belly up


And formed a water surface

A solid walk

As if on gravel and rocks

Here a trout’s tummy

Here a whale’s belly

Here a shark’s

Peritoneal cavity

I walk and reach across the way

Here in the non-world

Spread the habitation

Of man



They never got to know thirst

The earth alone

Had water

On the mountain peaks

And this solid

In the sky’s






You’ll take all tiny veins


The arteries of an earth

Now that an old dear will be refolding

Abundance into colour


With a radiograph

Thus faintly shall you diffuse

At the base of sensual pleasure

The International Blue Klein



You ceased weeping in the basin of the eyelid index

It’s been long ago  Don’t forget yourself

He grew scales so perfectly numbered in the joints of the outer body

They became a shell thanks to oxidation and lack of desalting

And you know ¾ This is achieved only with homeopathic tears

It’s been long since the stellar system ¾ Musically in the phrase dressing the grooves

Of night ¾ became riddled with thoughts of a secondary decision

Well now, can I banish feeling with thought?

Can I fix it on the comet’s tail?  For me to return like a second?

On a ruined planet?

Naught atmosphere

And again the joints relating movements to respite of sense

At irregular stepping

No reading can take place on pictures

At the wolf’s hour

Only bygone romantic claims

For a promise diagnosed by the growing of an adolescent leap

Contrabass the green leaves, they have covered the head longitudinally

Painted hideout

Dawn’s dumb greens don’t want inept trimming

Only eyes.  They suffice

Unavoidable the door inviting to a dance of two semivowel pageants

Snails know how to weave every earth cavity



With scales of withdrawal is muffled from sameness to sameness and depicts

A turtle’s shell with a naked Achilles’ heel wearing a nylon stocking

She enters the jersey consumptions of words and thoughts

The silk moisture of amorous roofs

On the veranda

Seeing the precarious vertigo of the Other one ready

To come down holding on to her hair alone

Neck wrapped ¾ She is anguished

Six floors below ground

In the green

Slowly, slowly.  We’ll she’s a turtle

And under the protection of the wolf’s shield the moment

The comet wades across the spume that resembles

A cloud and won’t find a better place to test

The powers of endurance but in the locked joints of a chameleon surface

Which poses as a sound turtle and still like a soldier

A dewdrop’s green light

Bygone romantic prohibitions

A city opens above with all antennas full blast


And the looks waiting for the descent

An arrow is assiduously searching for a turtle’s heel in plastic offers

Of flowers and she becomes chamai-leön and the planet Orion

And marginal changes

And barefooted she walks

Homeopathically and only thus

She turned to salt

Earth alone

She leaves weeps





You take them all one by one.  You bring them down from the sky.

You shine them

With alkaline water and zygomatic hands on the sheet sleep again forgot

To sleep  It’ll rest quietly

You tie them with invisible stripes  Elongation in thread and time


Long ago and much looked on

You give them the impetus of a sceptre or a cane.  The descent will be easier

From the outer height ¾  Outline.  You fasten them on the jewel-cum-neck

And whilst you are depicting a pendulum at the world’s right angle

Everyone will look at a vertical beam and from below one last thought

On top of your skull

The head, the moon of a green boy  And all the more it’ll drip reflection and reason

There the gods’ satiety takes place in

Breath and earthly thought







Be animated

By a breath

And let yourself be

Like an ostrich

Its entire length


On the ground


With kneaded



In the cyclothymic


Of an absolution

That will be


In time







Unexpectedly I set out to draw a circle

Round a piece of chalk

With a scraping’s shavings to be laid out

The paring of slowness

And stillness

And the line

And the line becoming a circle by itself

In contact with the ground

The chalk in the middle

The chalk a timeless moment

Chivalrous meditation

And straightforwardness


And in time it leaves an imprint

Like a downy blessing

When the wind blows it

A centimetre aside

Whereby a successive circle is created

And afterwards air or wind

Or whatever

Is again transposition

Again a successive circle

Round another piece of chalk

And eventually the piece of chalk

Becomes a fairway

And a hand takes it high by the nose

And brings it to the ground

And cauterizes it in black

And the white more vivid


And then it creates an entire human circle

And a shirt’s check passages

And no one wants to walk

On parapets laid out in a circle

Simply without beginning

And without end


Some daring fellow aims inward

Some timid one wallows in the outward ¾


Someone dead

Is well-nigh pleased

He finds enough space in there to squeeze

His body

To imply the way of initiative

Or suicide

To make the security scenarios easier to digest

And always dead and alone he finds

The flow in the circle of life and death

Without ceased full stops of bleeding

And then a moment later

The wind

Or death

Or the murderer

And the circle’s centre alters

And the manner of suicide changes

And a moment after

The circle enlarges

Becomes bulky ¾ three-dimensional

It’s called earth

And many the corpses ¾ man

And outside a piece of chalk is making a wreath

Atmosphere separating it from the gloom

Of chaos

And the star’s

Hooked safeguard

Surrounds the tops of mountains

And the depths of valleys

And volcanoes

And everyone is satisfied

Till some God with an arrow

Creates an iron attraction

Of normality

Called axis

Round which the sun will turn

With a chivalrous pulse

And eternal

No beginning and no end on the same

Maypole of life and romance

Death’s roundness leaves

A dull sound in the body

And around whiteness

And around earth

And nothing

A half outline of thought



When I used to tell you that too much education

Functions distortional in a look

You relied on

The nail cutting the ring finger

And said

Now that I’m burning skin ¾ skin the plastic

Ineluctable recollection

Why do you want to know

About the love bandage

About my formidable ruin?

Toss about

And don’t forget

To let your nose peep out

On top of the page

Is it called sublime intellect?

Is it called outcry?

This is education

Funeral share-out

My dear girl

And only a few

Were saved

From the sarcoma

Of knowledge

Of form

And love

The hydrocephalous baby is asleep


Our legs

We feign leisure

We pretend

Being committed



In the bareness and equivalence

Of a look

We’ll don dependence

From head to toe

Spasmodically we’ll allow

Some skin to be seen

And some wind to enter the mouth

And out through the nostrils

Like tobacco smoke

In the pink colour of an internal pile

Our feet will trail fears

With the excuse as usual

And as is natural

That it’s the domestic animals

We are taking out

To deposit their need in the street


When our fears are frightened

By being exposed

They’ll wind their tails round the neck

As a conspicuous collar

And pose as

Well-bred cats


In time they’ll eat us up

And not a scratch

No damage

No meowing

Afterwards we’ll take out our hands

To touch the almond trees

Hanging with white promises

But the husks will be so heavy

That in baritone

The hugs will arise

And the celestial




A subtitled habit

You repeat ¾

Each time you go out

The weeds of abandon

Keep on forming a yard

The parapet always excessive

The vine with dehydrated grapes

The hair in braids for some time now

Winding from neck to neck

The voice, choking it

It’s a shady night and I tell you:

“Bring back the three quarters of my face”

There’s no light and it’s not enough

The moon’s orange-shaped grace

Which presents an earring in a sky

And the ear of an earth that doesn’t hear the day

Coming cut off from the sideburns and beyond

And dispatched in a letter as a gift

To him who cannot hear music

But only feel the night’s thread in

My teeth as they now press

The words on the marks


Where I’d see square parallelograms

And the chapel ¾ all the greenery

Saucily beautiful and ordinary

And you drawing the first portrayal

Of my face

In 2/4 or

1/3 or

In a profile full of en face aromas

Waving you fondly the paintbrush

In a parallel hearing

And identification with the picture of our essence

There I saw you one-eyed of night

While trying to see the outline

Of a thought in an Egyptian look

The brow huge and travelled

On a motorbike of sixty-two summers

There at ¾

At the footnote of your love affairs

The locket distinguishing me from the neck

And from all things around you to leave a mark

My not wanting to hear the cry’s most

Perfectly planned loneliness

Which is a one-act play with only slight variations

And a female receiver

There I heard a bluebottle’s smile dragging

On water pedestals

And you well-nigh statuesque and one with

The landscape, god

Of the water and autumn


I dedicated my belly’s cells to a disposition

Of loving you from within towards everywhere

To forget the photograph which on being taken

Reveals falsehood outright

And I told you on a following morning:

“Do you want to feel my hair touching you?”

But the answer stuck on the lips

Like a pip

That thinks either to come out or to disappear

In the stomach and beyond

I touched the rough hairy habits of your thought

And made light alleviations of the weight

Of a talk


Now ¾ though I didn’t wake up late in love ¾

I remember you guiding to yourself the light

Chasing you and you chasing it

While standing dark-coloured somewhere in the middle

Wearing depth from sky to sky

I read you the sediment of fate in the dregs

Of my coffee ¾ You don’t believe in abortive prophesies

Neither do I if the truth be told

However while I talk the word’s braid is wrapped



Round the neck

All the more unbearably I remove colour from those

Stated on walls and out in the air


How I’ve missed the enthronement’s motion

On the salt water’s transparency

And that so childish look

Now that I’m telling you Come

Tell you twice to come

It doesn’t take long for a habit to learn

To get accustomed

But a loss

Never gets used to loss

The moment it happens

Nor the next moment

The next one

The other

The always



To stumble over two or three accompanying pages

To withdraw uncertain

And the thorny kisses to be stuck in your hands

And with these make a closely-knit knitwear of sand

And with this count time grain by grain of insignificance

And with it rinse your fingers and exorcise anew two thoughts resting    on the spine

And with these create feelings devoid of logical sequence ¾ only an endocrine gland

And  from there excrete the last smooth interrogation all curve

And with it place packing paper and little by little induce sharp whistles

And with these make corners to bury flights

And delusions


And the accompanying pages

Now creased by the foregoing

Unroll these too little by little

And with a murmuring flambeau begin

To be irresolute apropos the meaning

And time turning like counting backwards

From a hundred down

And with it come to the dot

And with this dot signify