To see you naked is to recall the Earth.
Poetry doesn’t want followers, but lovers.
Green how I want you green. Green wind. Green branches.
As I have not worried to be born, I do not worry to die.
Besides black art, there is only automation and mechanization.
In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country in the world.
Not for a moment, beautiful aged Walt Whitman, have I failed to see your beard full of butterflies.
There is nothing more poetic and terrible than the skyscrapers' battle with the heavens that cover them.
The two elements the traveler first captures in the big city are extra human architecture and furious rhythm. Geometry and anguish.
peaceful waters of the air
under echo's branches
peaceful waters of a pool
under a bough laden with stars
peaceful waters of your mouth
under a forest of kisses