Rattling Inside Metal Bat

The delights of capitalism: Speculation Food Handling Strategies

How to get rich with the hunger of others

economist Juan Torres complained in his book financial crisis. Guide to understand and explain in the website of Deutsche Bank could read a sign that said "Do you want to reap the benefits of a possible increase in prices of agricultural products? Deutsche Bank, as a distributor, offers two ways to benefit. " And then had two financial products through Luxembourg SICAV.

Here in Spain, Caixa de Catalunya Announces " Deposit 100% natural . They claim this deposit gives you the opportunity to obtain an attractive return conditional on the evolution of a basket consisting of three commodities as sugar, coffee and corn. That is, the investor allocates a minimum of one thousand euros to a fund that benefits achieved so far up the price of these three products, as everyone knows, are staples in the diet and economy of millions of people in the Third world. Thus, if corn prices rise, thousands of people go hungry while the investor makes money Caixa de Catalunya. "How to get rich with the hunger of others," he could announce his advertising.

Gonzalo Fanjul writes in his blog post entitled "El Pais" Play your bank with world hunger? " [1] . They recalled that Michael Masters, now a fund manager at Masters Capital Management, complained a few weeks ago in The Guardian [2] speculation in food and stated that "people are dying of hunger while the banks make a killing in food. "As pointed out by the editor of The Guardian of environmental issues, John Vidal," is intended that the same bankers, investment funds and financial players whose speculation in global financial markets caused the mortgage crisis in the sub-prime are causing inflation and behavior 'yo-yo' food prices. The charge against them is that taking advantage of the deregulation of global commodity markets, are making billions by speculating with food and cause misery all over the planet. " In his view, the mid-nineties, due to pressure from banks and investment funds on the U.S. political and Britain, the regulation of commodity markets was abolished. So purchase and sale of food became "derivatives" that could be bought and sold among merchants who had nothing to do with agriculture. Thus was born a new market unreal, that of "food speculation." Cocoa, fruit juice, sugar, basic foods, meat and coffee are now products on the world market with oil, gold and metals. Then, in 2006, arrived in the United States disaster of the subprime mortgages and the banks and speculators fled in a stampede to move billions of dollars in pension funds and shares in safe commodities, especially food.

Michael Masters said in U.S. Senate in 2008, speculation began with the aim of raising world food prices. According to Masters, "when looking at financial flows showed clear evidence that investors were well aware that most of the business [food] is speculation, I would say between 70 and 80 percent."

Well, now we know that these speculators are not so far from us, you can be our neighbor or ourselves and in our neighborhood can be a financial institution uses the money to make up the price basic foods at the expense of the lives of millions of people. Yes, Caixa de Catalunya is also a deposit Solidario, which covers around 50% of interest due charge the investor for a project of social work. Ie, they start their social work to the benefit of their clients not to the bank.

1 .- Fanjul, Gonzalo. "Play your bank with world hunger?". 05/04/2100
2 .- Vidal, John. 23-1, 2011The Observer Food speculation: 'People die from hunger while banks make a killing on food '


Source: http://amasandos.zoomblog.com/archivo/2011/04/13/como- get-rich-with-the-hungry-for-los.html

Free Clips Making Love

-Yvan INEVITABLE BETRAYAL POEMS OF SILENCE

Yván Silén, Puerto Rico

PRÓLOGO A UNA TRAICIÓN INEVITABLE

YVÁN SILÉN

A NÉSTOR BARRETO Y A CARLOS MUÑOZ .

Desde hace un siglo, la filosofía se está muriendo.

Peter Sloterdijk

Tras haber roto la promesa de ser una with reality. . .

philosophy is bound to criticize itself. W. Th

Adorno

Zarathustra [is] the truth laughing. Friedrich Nietzsche

Laughter think. George Bataille

The Antinihilista is laughing and laughing anguish poetry. . .

The poet is the undertaker of philosophy.

Yván Silén

This "death", the genocide (the death of God, death of history, the author's death - the death of men -) not to throw us to apathy or nihilism, or the sarcasm. Faith will be the face of the forbidden. We believe that we are forbidden. Approach the neofilosofía (eschatology), this metaphilosophy we are, is closer to a betrayal that should not be said, but involves the very meaning of happiness. Thinking is the bliss of being.

On the other hand, philosophy is an accumulation of corpses. It's closer, despite the history that has separated us, or history has left us, that need to be the surprise that we are. Is closer to a depth of absurdity and a political denial of suicide. (NO WE Nihilist!) We are antinihilistas de la liberté and we are radically opposed to slavery awareness Demokrat. Despite our sympathy for Cioran us not sink into nihilism of followers. Because anti-Kantian must choose between contemplation of "witness" and the action of praxistas (effects). Always keeping in mind that contemplation is a betrayal of motinescos. Puerto Ricans are moving us always, but we do not like, including the possibility of betrayal to ourselves in the consciousness slave suspended and the possibility of war. It is thought from the practice. And cogita from empiricism. Experts ungrammatical poetry with unprecedented violence of the radicals.

But though the prologue sounds or feels "light", is later than you think poetry or allegory of nihilism (2010), and it appears at times to sing thinking. The texts included in Smerdyakov are simultaneous or are children of the crying of nymphos (1980). We know there are disappointments appearance (Baudrillard) or weak hermeneutics (Vattimo), but none of them are satisfying. To make sense of our thinking we have to adhere laposamente the entity that seduces us and the entity that makes us conflict. And away, but this proves a stumbling block to European thinkers. The three trials that included trying to "unconscious" and ironically they are breaking. This break must be necessary, urges us, compels us, because the "critical" has become consumptive. The "critical", the test (your proposal, your essay), is sick. The "critical" sidista capitalist.

The metaphilosophy is the philosophy that has departed radically from the "philosophy," lewd Demokrat thought of neoliberalism. And what is "critical" could not understand yet, in most accidents (thought as a tragedy: "I think I could dream") metaphilosophy is that sensitive. The one on the sixty-six years I have expelled from the university (colonial) of Puerto Rico means, one way or another, that this has something to say metaphilosophy radically: Puerto Rico is a nation that has never fought a war itself. And always has been injured and forced to fight for the nation that has invaded and have been outraged. Our thinking is on strike in relation to the rhetoric and slogans-the-neoliberalism-and-of-the-"allies." The metaphilosophy not repeat power. Nietzsche's struggle against the power ("he who obeys not hear himself"), despite having sacrificed his poet, and Kierkegaard, in an attempt to sacrifice himself for the Church, can not repeat power.

Power has sought Demokrat burn alive. But our "silence" imposed and our ignorance forced yanquista, English and Latin American are part of the stake. The "witch burning" has become philosophical. I burned skin existentially and "soul" burns ether. Anti-critique from the right, sensible and sensitive from the right. Anti-critique from the same paradox. The paradox has become real. The demokracia is trapped. I "cracked" to the unconscious-sensitive (the unconscious, dream) criticize the political right. I approach from the aporia itself: I play things (things I am), I carimbó things. I am the "living flesh"-will-be! I am, "raw", the sensitivity of my anti-critique. The anguish of love and continuing love of anxiety (the anxiety of thinking and thinking constantly of anguish - sorrow, drowning, sorrow -). I suspect politically and philosophically reject me because mourning (because I did not mention, because I say what is not "should be" neither politically nor "anti-metaphysical" or antilog).

The "preconception" are the utopias of Europe. For this reason we assumed vitally the Suspect. We do not believe in the defeat of the Nihilists, or in the ambulances of the postmodern. Our rebellion is the very beginning of things. Our rebellion bigbanea. We metaphilosophical to all the indignities (Caligula). We are facing critical faggotry bourgeois America. And we have no choice but to philosophy anarchy "indecent. Artaudsianamente shoot against all ideological mirrors of silence is an emergency. A naked truth (an idea - a metaphor - a handy) is a terrifying truth. A naked woman is a political truth. A naked woman stops at all the uncertainty and all the successes of reality. A naked woman is none of their own truth is the lie of his own appearance, because there is nothing to hide. The truth is the essence of the lie. Hiding is also a way of being. The "phenomenon", says Heidegger, hidden or traffics in his own appearance. The philosophy has been delayed. Has come late to his own sementerio. His criticism of himself, his metaphilosophy adjacent, is overwhelming. But this experience inevitable, the destination-of-being-what-you-are, this being different, this awareness against the goods to be, are too overwhelming of a radical discourse (language of a radical, radical writing) that is urgently needed. This urgency is not about anything with haste. Mercantilist philosophy, by its silence ghetto merchandise has avoided in most cases, political criticism against power, against the institutionalized and opportunists. *****

Am I a ghost? Friedrich Nietzsche

Poetry should not be a hospital. . .

[you] could get rid of me with the excuse that I am a poet.

Sören Kierkegaard Kierkegaard

being rethought. W. Th

Adorno

unrest Freud's culture, influenced by Nietzsche, has become "the nihilism of demokracia hegemonic" or the popularization of the anonymous man. This discomfort Demokrat culture has manifested itself, and manifests itself as immoral, as frivolous, vulgarisation, "performance" and as neo-ideology state apparatus. The discomfort American culture has polluted the world through globalization. His main point is that the demokracia has become imperialist invasion of Grenada, Panama, Dominican Republic, and the bombing of Iraq, against Afghanistan and Libya. This imposition, established since Hiroshima and Nagasaki, is its cultural fatality fatality occurs within metaphysical ideology: God, freedom, humanism, etc.

cultural nihilism that Nietzsche complained to Europe has been transformed into nihilism Demokrat of imperialism. Since then it has absolutely nothing happened, or happened only death. Nothing happens postmodern Demokrat and defeated. Philosophy, indecent has taken the form of being in the closet, the cubicles and niches.

Philosophy is a bug (not significant).

-sarcastic philosophy "is" a scorpion "Is" a beetle pushing its ball of dung against many of the gods. Philosophy sin of simony atheist and agnostic! The "philosopher-of-power" (the demokracia) are simoniacs! They are merchants! But poetry continues to be the pleasure of distress. (And the anguish continues to be the "pleasure" of poetry.) Nihilism, meanwhile, is the conscience-torn man idiot. Nihilism is manifested as the "conscience" of man-thing. This "nothing" is the moral outrage of the Demokrat man (the man in the crisis and the man of the disvalues).

No sarcasm postmodern can then overcome the schizophrenia or the man Schizo "non-being," Schizo man suspended in the occurrence of unemployment. This, motinesco, resist from the most radical of his thinking that aims to "annihilate" and "ashes" to reality. But this, the reality itself, and resists change. The men zombimente change and it changes them. The reality is, therefore, the disharmony that exists between consciousness and the world, "objective", which is manifested through its many revelations.

But what metaphilosophy subversively seeks to change is that difference that Kant established between the "sensible intuition" and the "intellectual intuition." The presence of the object is constant and this constancy allows the subject to internalize it, I think and feel simultaneously in a single image. Intuition means vision. This intuitional is allowing the intellect and sensibility is manifested through the intellectual metaphor and concept-sensitive. The schizo is poetry the realm of intuition. Intuition is the harmony of opposites. The intuition is dialectical. This theory of intuition (or the intuition of the theory), between the sensible and intellectual, no longer be a suspect. So we are thinking and feeling from the suspect. We are seeing what inmirable from the intuition itself. The metaphilosophy not only Insolubilia (= antinomy) of logic, but of life itself. The contradictions are insolubia the unconscious (dreams, poems of it) and dreams of the true problem. It is the very oddness of being (the) paradox. The poet-paradigm proposed here, the poet was "cremated", is what gives testimony metaphilosophical the philosopher is thinking and who testifies poetic song. This poet-philosopher is one who has been buried in the censorship and silence.

antinihilistamente

The mystic recognizes the entity "schizoid, the body-legion-consuming: I am the erotic! "Mystic" metaphilosophical, is a seducer. His love is more awesome God. But God does not want to mystical simonewellmente in the Church's institutionalized corruption. God wants mystically mundane. For the mystic is the love of God in all its carnal rage. The mystic is the lover of metaphilosophy. Lust is the charm (beauty) of his own poetry. The mystic logic leads to the dark.

He is the strangeness of the feed, then, paradox, poetry, then, am, schizo, then politician, I am, then die. Think neoliberalism is thinking about the disaster demokracia. Does the existence, existence itself, is empty? Is that existence is the beautiful? Or is it perhaps that the beautiful is the trial itself? There is a relationship between the word and the fact that there may be depoliticized. The maelstrom progresses. Every word unexpected and unusual acts is the meta unusual gesture: the national liberation, liberation from what I am and who we are, very bizarre.

Despite all this, poetry becomes dreamy, passionate and metaphilosophical. Being, the passion of being, to its destruction (the death of the cosmos) are and will be possible. The mystic exegitiza (in the philosophical meat of God as far as possible). This is the scandal and this is the demonic sense: God thinks, God trine, the dogs shut up, that hoje fall and the wind stops. The moon has withdrawn an inch off the ground. Poetry (the very meaning of intuition, instinct, vision of the world), is the essence of what he is. And ethics is precisely what we love about terrible fate. The ethical is the inevitable (if) of poetry, essay, it is inevitable metaphilosophy politician: the test-poetic. There will be no split. The man himself unilaterally think and think the cynics-Sidas as the contradiction of his health. The disparity is made possible. The cowards, the enemies, the fraudulent are proper names multiply. The crowd in the world, worldly, faces the schizos of God, the mystical.

Poetry, then, the beautiful presence of the tragic and immoral. The ethical has entered a twilight zone (unpublished). The unprecedented, so language has not been made, the advance radical meta-grammar, is a suspect. The unprecedented is necessary. And the aesthetics of ugliness of Rosenknanz (street dolls of Christ, 1989, "Notes on the Xerox project", 2008) is the disgust of Kant proceeds modern, postmodern and metapostmodernamente. Kierkegaard's aesthetics and Notre Dame (Quasimodo), Preface to Oliver Cromwell, and Lautréamont established guidelines. The philosophy is shocked. Greatness immanence. The ugly, hunted by the technique that shows, no longer a challenge for beauty. Intimate, Werther, and is unstoppable. The idea, the whole language becomes tender. And this same sensibility, turns and becomes the great abstraction.

The reason is revealed markedly, and the sensible, all feeling, it becomes rational. The unconscious smile. Epistemologically the brain expands on the occurrence of empiricism. The "est-ethics" is revealed and concealed herself. Suicide may be an ethic. Here again the scandal: the abstract and the concrete becomes happens as the experience of neolibertario.

The unconscious is conscious!

This is the scandal: "Poetry is not a commodity. Poetry is a non-being in relation to this capitalist society that denigrates hidden. Between her and the bourgeoisie has always been and will be the denial that alienates. It has always been nothing. And this nothingness of non-being kills the poet of the unprecedented, kills poesiasofía poet. This is also the situation the metaphilosophy where everything that does not come from outside (Sloterdijk, Deleuze, Zizik, Givone, etc.) is demeaning.

The betrayal of poetry and metaphilosophy to the class in power is inevitable. The betrayal of the poet that comes to this relationship between class and him. This happens because the class has been sold in the cultural and political status quo (in immobility). This is because the objectivity, the mirror and approval have been broken. Subjectivity is the am. This is what I could not copy. Betrayal is the most abstract idea of \u200b\u200bimmanence. Treason is the "genius of the sensible." The "traitor" this hero of the negativity (from nothing), is the antihero of the metaphilosophy. He is the poet of the beauty of this non-being. Stinking of death, the colony did not resist. The poet-philosopher, thinker or not, is annoying. He is annoying. The poet-philosopher, poet and philosopher (Kierkegaard, Nietzsche, Cioran) is disturbing. The Disturbing it is necessary to freedom. A liberty which he must disrupt. Given this "unfriendly", Kierkegaard said, "My personal business is somewhat annoying that, pathetically stubborn pseudonyms want. . . Keep them as unfriendly opposition. "

The power wanted to suppress the world. The practice is, therefore, the act of faith in God Reckless. The practice, because of their boldness, their ignorance, it seems to God. The strangeness of the fact fascinating. The subject is caught up in wonder. The subject is trapped by the dark light of being. In the dark-white (in that oxymoron of Seresta) the subject under discussion from noon to midnight, from being to non-being, from nothing to the epiphany. Being lag between lint and brown. (Being occurs between sadness and laughter.) The Metapoets no choice: trapped in his (in) rupture alone. This is the way unheard of freedom. And out of the political isolation is to betray. But the gesture of the scandal can not become self-betrayal. Treason policy must remain objective, class. Subjectivity in the republic has created its own objectivity and its own definition. No one can betray. The republic is both abstraction and objectivity itself. The ideal republic, is what can no longer think demokracia. (The philosophy is dying. The demokracia is serious.)

Being speech.

metaphilosophical

The poet can not escape sin. But, what is the meaning of this sin-metapostmoderno? The collaboration! The collaboration is the ideal sinner, Demokrat and devalued (the president of the relative, the governor of corruption, immorality lawmakers-), of postmodernism. This definition of sin breaks the concept of sinfulness-Christian. And God, where is all this? God supports and sponsors the "sin" of the poet metaphilosophical, but does not support the abominable sin of collaboration. Treason is as the "death of God" (like matricide, such as incest, and pedophilia). In the demokracia all have sinned. All are sold (all hate, all slander, blaspheme all). Le faith is a luxury (of subjectivity). Intimacy has become a commodity. The story of the mighty Erebus. The collaborators are evil. The moral of the collaborators is the heinous crimes of the law. Demokrat pornography law.

The objective content of interiority, of the breakdown of the stake, is the kaleidoscope of the Unconscious: God has become the carousel of the possibilities. And the mystic has chosen himself. May die or go crazy brutality of their choice may be choosing their brutality, the mystic prays erotic, political and "ateamente." The mystic reckless God, because God is absent, the Phantom, has violated a child. But the mystic praxis drunk inmudanalidad is sick of the world. The mystic does not despise the reality, but the baby. God is the same suspicion of a transcendent reality. The mystic, as metaphilosophical, as the hero, such as schizophrenia, only becomes clear when it disappears (when he dies). Freedom becomes absolute.

This is the paradox: the immutability of poetry is becoming (the essence of the dialectic, is the movement of the dialectic), the enigma. The poet, like the philosopher, have no limits. The limit does not exist. Since moving poetry paradox. If language is the limit world, as Wittgenstein assumed, poetry, language as a rupture of the "logical" denies. The test becomes beautiful. The test is suspect and is surprised himself. Contaminated poetry, essay leads to a paradox. Paradojiza poetry and contradicts the "sense" the same logic. His logic-of-being is more powerful.

inevitable

Since everything is said. The world is empty. Nobody, with notable exceptions, neither has said or has thought. The world continues so that the language is always late. (The world is not written.) The brain of the poet-philosopher is expanding! And poetry, the unconscious itself, clean the brain produces dreams will inevitable as-poem, invented. The poet-philosopher is so schizo Simultaneous (the hero, the antihero, the eponym, the burned, the Adonis). He who places his life in the concept of metaphor or metaphor of the concept. These "strange" these city dwellers, these "outcasts", the "unemployment, these suicide Demokrat, these strangers, these reckless, these bold, these are disturbing, then, the very flesh of distress. The poet is desperate and thinks politically. Anxiety becomes metaphilosophical and sings. Everything is about to happen. Everything is "permitted." All begins.

Everything must happen. The decision has become imminent. Who chooses whom? Does one choose the poet (the Aristarchus), or the poet chooses one (the anointed)? Being joins (fuses, hackneyed, league). Being, the same special is what spins and coupling. Who chooses the rose? Who says the pink is pink? Does the breeze, the Oreo, the vahaje? Nobody tells! The same happens with the poet and philosopher. There is a decision to be, but this decision is related to the "persons-of-the-schizo. Someone has to be the master of your neighbor. The poet or metaphilosophical! "We-Self" que ha escogido al hombre, escogerá de nuevo. El poeta escogerá lo distinto, lo “ajeno”, lo diferente, en la decisión de “lo-Mismo”. El destino será radical. ¿Paradojo? El poeta es la presencia esencial de la paradoja. El poeta es la paradoja encarnada. (Este “determinismo” es la decisión de la libertá.) La libertá ha decidido verticalmente por sí, aunque a veces decide contra sí. A veces decide puertorriqueñamente contra sí misma. Pero yo he decido ser lo que ya soy (en la potencia de ser). Esta es, pues, la decisión absoluta de la libertá. El poeta prefiere morir antes que venderse. ¡La demokracia está en crisis!

Los candelabros are illuminated. *****







April 23, 2011 Puerto Rico




___________________ 1. Laughter is as heavy as death.
2. See Albert Camus, 300.
3. "Do not breathe the fumes of the city at the slaughterhouse dead spirit?" (Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 249).
4. See Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 278.
5. "I've never driven in my life to the powerful" (Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 245).
6. In the silence of the power metaphilosophical breathes anguish that has not been resolved.
7. Contemporary Thought.
8. See Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus by Ludwig Wittgenstein.
9. Caligula is all the presidents.
10. Jean Baudrillard.
11. See Martin Heidegger.
12. "You fell on me like ghosts dirty" (Thus Spoke Zarathustra, 167).
13. See Kierkegaard.
14. See the moment.

15. George W. Bush as a prophet of sarcasm and guadramaña (or Moyano) and Barack Obama as the hostage of Republicans. The demokracia is maquiaveliza the lies of Bush and the weakness of Obama (in the anemia of Aníbal Acevedo and the nequicia Luis Fortuño). Bush and Obama (a Nobel Peace Prize falsified), as substitutes peeps Pope, remember anachronistically to Nero. He lied when he said that Christians had burned Rome and Bush lied when he said that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction.

16. In the popular sense of the Puerto Ricans.
17. See "The signifier of the phallus" in Writing 2 of Jacques Lacan.
18. See "Yván Silén is a mystical poet" in God is an atheist.
19. See Diary of a seducer.
20. Jesus to the merchants (to the capitalists).
21. See Thought sings.
22. Foreign words are the wounds of language.
23. See Kierkegaard, the aesthetic construction, 30.
24. See the raw beauty (2008).
25. See Hernani.
26. See Bayoán's Pilgrimage, directly influenced by this work of Goethe.
27. See Kierkegaard, 31.
28. Emphasis added.
29. See Kierkegaard, 35.
30. Metaphilosophical The republic is as important as poetry.
31. See The Black Heralds of César Vallejo.
32. The annexation Word Festival from 4 to May 8, 2011 at the headquarters Ballajá.
33. Your choice may be the essence of his suicide intermittent.
34. "This is my blood. . . Which is shed for you "(Mark 14: 24).
35. See my essay José María Lima and Ludwig Wittgenstein.
36. See my antiensayo thinking or allegory sings of nihilism (2010).
37. See in this book "Lima and Wittgenstein."
38. Exterior reappears.

39. See The Grand Inquisitor in Ivan Karamazov. See the book "deicide Smerdyakov or an idiot."

40. Returns abroad. The meaning has become political that can only be expressed in the metaphilosophy and poetry.

41. This also happens with the musician and the mathematician.
42 This is related to love fate.

NOTES:


Adorno TH. W. Kierkegaard. Akal, Madrid, 2006.
Baudrillard, Jean. America. Anagram Editorial, Barcelona, \u200b\u200b1987.
Heidegger, Martin. Being and Time. Fondo de Cultura Economica, Mexico, DF, 1962.
Kierkegaard, Sören. Instant. Editorial Trotta, Madrid, 2006.
Lacan, Jacques. Written 2. Siglo XXI Editores, Mexico, DF, 1984.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Alianza Editorial, Madrid, 1983.
Todd, Olivier. Albert Camus. Tusquets Editores, Barcelona, \u200b\u200b1997.
Sloterdijk, Peter. Critique of cynical reason. Siruela editions, Madrid, 2004.
Vallejo, César. The Black Heralds. Cátedra, Madrid, 2001.
Wittgenstein Ludwig. Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus. Alianza Universidad, Madrid, 1975.

How To Help My Baby Get Rid Of Phlegm And Mucus

Burroughs ADOLFO Dhaka-POEM

Adolfo Burroughs, Spain

GIRL IN THE STREET

flight between your feet is soft
your question breasts

lilies open next summer.

Speak your fingertips
a craving for pigeons.


fire rings.

JUDGES, 1908 (Georges Rouault)

The sublime stench of Purple
grotesque
where darkness resonates
bitter born
crypt

creaks and chewed the powerful thirst for revenge.

CITY DREAM, 1921 (Paul Klee)

My heart is a landscape of memories, a city
moons

yours is today's dream river that runs away and
desert
stay that stands between the folds of a prodigy
evoked
skies in flight, the color symphony

taken away.

PALE BLUE, 1970 (Jules Olitski)

Perhaps



tenderness, perhaps his subtle
cascading, or the intimate

greed of a small air suspended
night,
barely

just an oversight from the shadows.

RAIN BIRD ...

... Rain bird
place you do not get the excuses in the world
,
creator of beaches, boats
viewpoint,

dawn hiding the silence the fire ...

_________________ Born in Aldealpozo (Soria), 1943, has lived since age 2 in Aragon. Practiced law work until 1990 and was deputy in the Cortes of Aragon from 1992 to 1996. Lies in Zaragoza and holds a degree in law.

participated in the "Anthology of poets from the Generation of 1965", foreword by Miguel Labordeta, who was kidnapped before seeing the light by Franco's censors, and there are copies of the galleys. Has been award "Joy" poetry of the City of Santander with the book "Poachers days" (Editorial Algaida, 2005) Angara poetry prize of the City of Seville "City Name" (Editorial Angara, 2005), runners-up prize Vicente Martin with " memory is the journey "(Ediciones Vitruvius, 2007) Isabella of Portugal Award of the Provincial Government of Zaragoza, with" Pictures at an Exhibition "(Veruela Poetry, 2007) Flor de Jara award of the Provincial Council of Caceres Colors disunited "(Ediorial AbeZetario, 2010), prize for the best sonnet in the event of Jerez de los Caballeros, etc. His poems have been collected in books, the last "20 poets exposed" and magazines. Prose and creative works, opinion or report have been published in other publications and newspapers.

Read more in Art-Faces and poetic verses.

Blu-ray Player Grainy

ELENA POPESCU LILIANA ASTRID

André Fotografía Cruchaga

If

If they could ever
to measure the immeasurable,
To grasp the vastness,
To sit, crossing the void,
Being neither one nor the other.

If they could ever love
being unloved, being
Nesperând hope to be speaking not speaking
,
thought to be unthinkable. If

s-ar whores vreodată
auzi neauzitul SA, SA
priveşti în nevăzut
if his afli neştiutul, Ar
Urmas începutul IAR?

IF

If
never permitted to measure the immeasurable,
cover the vast,
subtract, crossing nothing
be neither one nor the other. If

never be permitted
love without love, without waiting
be hope, not to mention being
word
was thinking without thinking. If

never permitted to hear the inaudible
,
anticipate the unexpected Coneix
l'unknown, Hauri
faces a principi hi?

Catalan translation by Pere Bessó




IF YOU COULD

If
could ever measure the immeasurable, the unlimited cover

and crossing the blue, not being a
or the other ...


If
could ever be love without love, without waiting
be hope,
be a word without speaking,
be thought without thinking ...

If
could ever hear the inaudible, invisible

see and learn the unknown, would there be a new
beginning?

Romanian translation by Joachim Garrigós

Adresse De Yg Entertainment

Fugellie POEM A POEM Gezan Mileyda

Astrid Fugellie Gezan, Chile

ADELAIDE *

The woman coming to the plain

impeccably decorated shade: shade
his face, two eyes

shade to shade the nose, mouth

shadow shade your neck, your back

shadow shadow legs
feet in the shadows. Adelaide
is wrapped in his black cloak
and bright,
it seems that the attempt to conceal

overshadowed the event.
looming
impeccably plain shade cover

shade your face, two eyes

shade to shade the nose, mouth

shadow shade your neck, your back

shadow shadow legs
feet in the shadows.
The roof lanterns light up and carefully disguised

Adelaide
mourning takes the body to light and
lies in a deep and eternal
according to the shadows where no one notices the drop

confided that a field of daisies
a name alive and dead.

* Taken From Publication Scissors Collective. Concept: Ingrid Fugellie. Text Book of bad death, a poem by Astrid Fugellie (Santiago de Chile). Design: Grace Zanuttini.

Printing: Miguel Rocha. Thanks: Bertha Aguilar, Elizabeth Chavez, Françoise Couissin and Alberto Kritzler. Contributions: colectivotijera@gmail.com Mexico City.

_____________

Fugellie Gezan Astrid was born in Punta Arenas, Chile in 1949. Toddler Educator, writer.

Published Works: Poems, I. City of Punta Arenas, 1966 / Seven poems, 1969 / A house in the rain Ed Gabriela Mistral, 1975 / Who's Who in the Chilean, Ed Nascimento, 1982 / The days of silence, Ed Nascimento, 1984 / Cruises, anthology, 1966 / Chile mourning (artifact), Ergo Sum, 1987 / A hands of the year (story), Ergo Sum, 1987 / Women in the 80 Chilean poetry, anthology, editor Corssen Inge, 1987 / circles, Ergo Sum, 1988 / Gods of sleep, Editorial Cuarto Propio, 1991 / Circles , (2 ª. Ed.) Ed The Hidden, 1996, Keys to a magician, Ed The Hidden 1999 / Of souls and demands, from underground animitas Chile, Proyecto Regional Fondart, 2003 / The land of the Harlequins, that arc that shape after the rain, Puppet Show, the painter María Paz Valdivieso, 2005 / The generation of pigeons, Ed The Hidden, 2005.

Thinking Day Brownies

MENENDEZ DÁVILA

Mileyda Menénez Davila, Cuba

WRITTEN IN PUERTO CARENAS

I
Two stars across the day.
Their orbits bifurcate. Oblivious
, sail time,
repel, are given via. Van

prisoners of that mania
to see distance as uncertain.
(Chaos Love Angel Valladares died ...
other lights) that mutate
Astros at crossroads: Footprints
denying the desert.

But the confusion is gravitating
skin. It is the echo

chisel marble carving
awake in his veins. It is

port waiting for more candles ...

overflowed from the meager
obituaries Cyberspace: First
lines.
Preface.
silent doors are opened.







II in a heartbeat are measured
three souls: Built in the middle. Announcement

possible misunderstanding when a barking

of the flesh leads to the nest
borrowed from impudence.

was overwhelmed in touch
two bodies. On the third.
(blank page "?)

The ink overflows in their greed.

Burning in the news voice
-half trap half-truth-
walls are dreaming.
not
clears the urgency of delight. Travel

. Flee.
Hives marked pollen
stink.
The young star stuck in tar sands


awaits final scenes of a strange bed.

(Closes Chapter deception) the mature rock

back to a boil on your skin:

causes him to fall another crossbar.

(Chapter of jaundice,
colon, pancreas ...
Reading
drowning in the freshness of a seminal source)
The language is a storm whip
and tenderness. Barren

pools of bitterness

voices of rain and overflows its stand
of lust. Rush


by madness
undress and step into the veins open to pleasure ...


Caen, serene,
the shadows of despair. New

hander for a story written in Puerto Carenas.




III
Never mind that the Moors
save the coast.

kisses are sins unconfessed. The

sound silent fears outbursts. The gauging

rush mast.

(wither in the arteries outside
the conveniences, drowned out by the emergency
bellies
regurgitated)

rush hours: Final
open.
Lust.
More strings to the spurious
cadence in which three bodies
levitate.
visit
Today Tomorrow

oracles who knows?

week is all dizzy and light ... After

will toss: Life amends
flat. ______________________

Mileyda DÁVILA MENENDEZ (Rule, City Havana, Cuba, 1968). Poet, i NGEN, elementary school teacher and journalist. As such it is a member of the collective daily Juventud Rebelde , where she attends section Sex sense and tecleros movement, followers of the column Elf key . It is also a contributor to the Group Ala Tenth, and on its website Cuba Ala Tenth have published several poems of his own. By winning two of the awards side in national competition XI 2011 Ala Tenth , ranked third in the contest, with his notebook Journal shameless madness which he conquered and Décimas prize for love Hermeides Pompa , which gives the Casa Iberoamericana of the Tenth The Cucalambé of Las Tunas , and erotic theme award sponsored by the Center for Art and Literature Fayad Jamis of Alamar, La Habana del Este . With your text interior Soliloquy against thirst reached in 2006 the Prize Luisa Perez de Zambrana, e n 2008, reached second in national competition Francisco Pereira written for a tenth in Nueva Paz, former province of Havana.

Read more from this poet ARTEPOETICA-FACES AND LINES

Suisse Pamp 100gms Gold Bar

LILIANA ELENA POPESCU POEM POEMS

LILIANA ELENA POPESCU, Romania

VISULA DIN ZORI

Nemărginirea
ce sa fie cuvântul tainic cuprinde noastre
neîmplinite Visel, Lasater fiilor, Fri
povară pentru sufletul lor încercat?

sa fie oare Tăcerea cuvântul
desprinde Visula magic ce din zori
Tie Lasater, neştiută comoară
şi Taine to sufletului purificat?

THE DREAM OF ALBA

Infinity "is the word that crept

invade our dreams unfulfilled, the children left, I live for proven
torment soul?

Silence "is perhaps the word that magically appears
dawn sleep
you left,
arcane treasure and mystery of the purified soul?

Ruman translations: Dan Munteanu Colan

THE DREAM OF ALBA

may be unattainable mysterious word that encompasses

inacomplits our dreams, left their children, living
load try them for the soul?

silence may not be the magic word that
after the dawn of dream
you left, hidden treasure,
purified soul last supper?

Fan Catalan by Peter Twin

Is Perrier Hard On The Stomach

Annabell POEMS

ANNABELLE Manjarres Freyle, COLOMBIA

When you faint

When you faint,
You walk into the spiral of emptiness, not freedom

locks you in his concept winged
There is no dream that you remember where you were
,
There is no pictorial angel robbing the soul.
Upon awakening, anxiety,
the true meaning of death,
And in that time, all roads
worn soles
are meaningless.
When you faint,
Who holds you?

Reincarnation

With the wind
anxiety dream
Its wings are decorated to plan your new destination
evanescent.

Now that no human thought
He drowns in the surface of time. Displays and decks

Notes that the distance
Everything usually get smaller.

What once was immense
now be in your eyes,
With that discovers
squirting fish in a deep river,
The sea embracing
land and lakes as mirrors of the sky

eyes that carries the world towards a horizon
curved, flowing.

Life is only now feeling,
Freedom! Innocence
untamed, Beside the summit

Blue is spotless.

La Quemada

Witch of the Burnt Hill
Pentacle
burning and you in the middle.
Pay your wise eyes to the brightness of day, dark

Pay your hands to stir the Peto.

What is your skin painful bone
And your evil eye on sick children.
What agony the broken homes
vulgar in your mirrors. Mediator

lower astral,
to you no matter modern times.
hate cops
settlers on the beaches of Rodadero.

say that the weak mortals
judge your lack of God but are hypocrites


creed come to your prayers
when faith and fasting
fail to manipulate their fate.

You who are the shadow of life forms,
From the hills Gaira
- tropical dry forest -
Gairaca The heiress of legends.

Self

I'm the finger points,
The shadows that lit
springs. Everything


through Water light, wind,

darkest feelings and the most merciful,
Hope,
My man.

I'm going with days of silence
and stay in them, hug

the backs of those given to me, I force

parks to get out of my routine and my hair
grass out my wound
name. I groped

playing
bodies of men and women, I

fanning with my sovereign nuances.

And I threw. Listen to me as I fall

my illusions
addition to this other than
taught me to fly.

In the Hall of Mirrors

The truth is urgent, and inevitably


in consciousness miserable prey. Useless


caged between ego bars, among many
Ts
unnecessary to be himself.


Hence the order is made, Instant
each perspective of reality
is polarized in the mirror
of infinity.


At no other time than now,

at the very moment it reaches the light and reflection
each vacuum.

is a long sequence
From bars, to the meeting
Releasing
from a single source: a pair of hands

clutching the sword of truth.

full moon tides of blood

Blood
clear to me the moonlight, I know

pure iron and with it could forge a sword that cuts
my Fears
pulirme or chisel.

This blood on my damp cave
ups and downs of my silence has a drop

All
reminiscent
history and the turn of the Milky Way. This blood


I bite my lips to taste the red

That springs.

My natural good burns
sweetest Feeling the kiss sublime
And
Of all the kisses.

Light Brown-tinged Bleeding For 1 Day

Freyle Manjarres FRANCISCO SOLER JESUS \u200b\u200bMUÑOZ ANA ROMANO

Francisco Jesús Muñoz Soler, Spain

NATURAL SELECTION

1
LIVE

Living is an exercise in constant attitude
a drift while retaining the complex

essence of our emotions and feelings.



2 SHORT BECAUSE

Because it is brief,
cruel, terrible and merciless life
us live,

we must hold her to that on the day of our death


know that at least had the dignity
want to live,
to be kings of a tiny but splendid
glare.




3
OUR LIVES THAT ARE FRAGILE
That fragile our lives
that fleeting, that absurd
that cruel that
beautiful while they last.



4
ACCURACY
My son was predeceased by grandparents,
one did not know him, the other almost by photos,
assimilated than the grandparents die
and gives as good and natural that when grandfather die ,
in security as I ask, looking into his eyes,
have children, of course I said firmly convinced.
. ... And we in ours, as uncertain.




5
THE DENSE MEMORY OF MY CORPOREIDAD
The dense physicality of my memory
seething cauldron in the beautiful
where odors are cooked
of my realities and dreams,
is both his background and the fine line between
truth and fantasy is so imperceptible


have been mixed to form a magma

so true and clear that they could not rescue
original flavors and textures.



6
WALK To feel alive to feel alive

Walk walk walk no more sense
not move for being
as inanimate object.
give rise to light and filling them with my concerns

ethical sense and love developing my feelings in order to gratify
and endure. That
pit of my growing intimacy satisfaction
see
forged enduring values \u200b\u200b
substance future lives.




7

PATH OF LIFE "And, as you know, the lot and thought it better." FRAY LUIS DE LEON

I
With constant simplicity

in peace concert to calm the mind away

riches and honors hapless

in improved comfort after luengo
sense to recognize error, the fortunes

and my thoughts better.



II

Trying to clarify my constant doubts about the immortal soul

and original cosmic

rational culture before the coming evening

supported by the wealth of the firm
stoic and wise simplicity, nurturing
I thought.




8 NOVEMBER

NACE was born in November on a spring fall pregnant

ocher hues where only the former green

reveal real Station of our essence, yet

inflated by huge desire to strengthen and enjoy our presence
rooted to the ground, in this November
born
peaceful signals
sudden wind to lighten the tops of the trees reminds us of the brevity

and joy of our prime reasons,
that have been tracing the meaning and direction
Search
of that happiness which is singular

rewarding our roots while fertilizing our offspring, and the cool mornings

us
clothing require our intimate feelings and facts

the time November gets underway in
time and the silver snowfalls cover the meager

branches decorated and we have that point up

satisfaction that gives a good living without feeling filled

but with the palate and the senses
full, in good company
go
giving us free expired
in wakefulness.





9
NON SO I FEEL MY PRESENCE
I'm so oblivious to my presence
trapped in a changing body

imposed by circumstances and frame wrap my existence
enduring witness of my weakness,
all all depends on my stupid body
brittle and fleeting
coward on the run fleeing
forward life, collection of decrepitude
that I will inevitably lead to death.






10
THE SLOW FLIGHT OF THE HOURS
"Flee not seen, slow day, and time
secret
with demure silence about ... FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO

I
In intimate urban scenario
remote desert in the peace that clarity mana,
through its deep windows quiet
my music and my arguments, attempt to fill this
my soul, strengthen
contemplation and bathrooms adorned with rich memories
beautiful and songbirds
intense rhythms and feverish dream of vibrant
waves "that improves the slow flight hours."


II
Food
silently tracks tricked
germinated in fleeting days, although I do not believe
despite I meet the Grim Reaper in confidence
met in timely and bitter
events but has been slowing its distance
as you grow your
shroud layer "to paint in the sediment of my limo."



III
Overcoming this fear of misery and terror
that dark space of infinite embers
unknown to nourish the dictate that everything matches when I faced
I tell you, be my consolation
sea Take me to your continued losses
find support there,
grace "to raise my soul with feet of clay."





11
THE DETERIORATION OF THE DAY IMPERCEPTIBLE
The imperceptible deterioration of soft
days of life
knife switch that runs and pours liquidly
fleeting perceptions in amber, full breaths

eternal consciousness of immortality without limits or measures that are busy
sublime greatness from tiny and fragile
resonance
the slow decline of short power forward plans to

celestial souls there from which the most intangible
that covers the quiet existence that we pray
magnificent and eternal as the forces
ask us rest.




12
BUT I HAVE MOMENTS OF JOY
Although I have moments of joy
I feel that I live my own life I'm hijacking

my time bury me of futility and loss,
to avoid this feeling starts to rust

dream my body does not corrode

frustration and anger for all that I am leaving to live and enjoy

unique and fragile in my life, I need to assume

risks necessary to climb my mountains

make my mistakes and contemplate my own sunsets,
not want to feel the need
to go back in my life
when you reach the age

to know that soon I will be dying, not

have put the value determination and the necessary delivery

to make sure you have enjoyed the fullness of my own days
.





13 DAYS NO-FLY IN MY LAND BOLTED
In my days without flight
bolted to the ground and lost her sight I
outlines the contour of the figure of my beloved tenderness,
tangible true, beautiful, well
bodily shown in the wide world of my retinas, and in that space
clear without borders, we entrust our secret

dreams imagined caressing the curves, projecting
boundless dreams
fields clinging to the ground by an anchor light
without dryness and imposture on
regulated by the endless accumulation of losses.





14 ZIGZAG the unfinished and accurate STONY
The sadness never ends, happiness itself.
why not enjoy it when it comes, is the largest
waste. Vinicius De Moraes

Weaving the endless and
rocky afflicting accurate and accompany our lives, barefoot in the fleeting
and trembling that
and transferred soft caresses of ferns
entering through the arches of the feet
to kiss in the book of our feelings, intense and penetrating
those moments
that touch, that kiss, those looks
delivered another key set that indelible memories,
be fully aware of feelings
only where the waste is not hollow.




15
GET TO THIS POINT DIFFUSE
The gods know what is coming, the men what had happened, and the sages
looming. Philostratus

Us diffuse that point where you can take away
about yourself watching the breadwinner incardinated

traveling meanders crossroads ...
recipient receiving the vibrations of the hanging. Receive
mysterious hum and move
to carry my legacy
inherent to care for my emotions and steps

the right course for the future of my future years. That
leaving my disembodied state
and longtime sailing the desired path
the galley pantry my fill of the most nutritious

knowledge and smoothness tributaries of joy to my spirit.
events in those places
find the beautiful, noble, magnificent
taste without haste, taking my time, and upon reaching
port
rise the riches that my soul yearns for the silos of Ithaca. Mariana Bernárdez






16 WIDE, deep, dense, corporeal
Wide, deep, dense, corporeal,
unit itself, creator of territory, Amazon

shelter and lavish material conveyor which is constructed dreams. Scenario
dreams of sophists and Aguirre, slow flowing
, abrupt, devastating, serene
phagocytes provider and empires of enigmatic golden
earthly and eternal. Some pass through ambitious

arteries of misery and deforestation driving
today emporium a few
a putrid swamp morning
all others find the key point of diaphragms G
ethereal space where pleasures grow to enjoy them
those who must believe that there , rowers
dreams with a sense of space and calm. Find the limo smith
opening
enigmatic point where he transcends the soul curdling and feel close
human
generates the magical sense of the fleeting and eternal time.




sailing for 17
TRIPTYCH

I
"The Loves, if they come with excessive strength,
or reputation or provided under the man "
Euripides (in the mouth of Medea)
My life passed on by the momentum of the tense bow cyprid,
its sparkle was still smoldering
reminiscent ulcerate the balance of my once quiet golden,
sad love which was powered by idyllic dreams where fascinating
torch was glimpsed
lure that led me inevitably to the field of Mars canyons.




II


"I feel pain to remember how he kissed me and artfully
leave me thinking" PAPYRUS Grenfell



unrelenting pain I feel deep in my heart when I look kind
flashing resplendent in beautiful eyelids
more innocent child, charming and good, then I remember as a cunning lips smeared
passion
golden arches in my heart and my dreams, while preparing
gusty sandstorm in the sky of my life.




III


"What do you do again? Your disposal What is the purpose?
Have not you noticed yet that you have gray hair at the temples? "



Theocritus
I let my fears and emboldened by foolish dreams and alienated I drag
to succumb again
the most bitter of grim misery,
my new age now I am dedicated to discrete
noble thoughts away from the ashes of my passion held,
... sensible voyage wish my days, hopefully in Ithaca is Aphrodite.



18


FIND HARD FEELINGS ANTHROPOLOGICAL
"I am moved by the little wisdoms that any death
dies" JORGE LUIS BORGES




Find arduous anthropologists
emotions of the sensations experienced, able to rescue
tiny
essences still seething at unexpected frequencies
rubbing with the textures of our finite bodies, plunging the interiors
mazes of our bowels, seasoned
of unknowns, a dial found yet.
magnificent sea poured in to the river of life the knowledge
jingles, sound affects and thoughts,
bygone images captured by eye, the magic
endemic transmitting life energy, which magma
receive these essences when self dies
may not again be the intimate and essential wisdom
because the memories are mixed with dreams, and all carry a
in Alexandria.

19






BELIEVE IN U.S. CURRENCY UNIT
"But theologians say that the shadow of another kingdom
later I will be waiting for me" JORGE LUIS BORGES




believe in the unity of us divisible
without losing our integrity and identity, despite losing
our hardware
and being aware of our current dependency on it,
to be the voice of thought and where we feel the echo
as we ourselves without our brain
and detached from neurons and physical frailty,
how we communicate and with whom or who
when we get into the unfathomable shadow
and we are waiting.





20
if we discovered THE TRUTH

If we were to discover the truth of what really we would fold
earth and sky, and then it would

of us in this trouble
where people kill for God, we would
free or helpless,
would enjoy the tranquility and light penaríamos
or darkness, rejoice in the meantime
doubt.




21
LIVE, LIVE THE TRUTH
It is a truism that life is a dream dream
a slight floating in our memory, but
is it perhaps not, our memories flow
diffuse light and volatile
nebula revealed by that time heals all wounds they say
but what it does is remove the gaps in pain, give perspective resigned
year, filled with absences
that were once rooted
us the best and worst, of what surrounded us and were,
preserving the illusion that we not devour this
and landing on the shores endless redemptive
of whirlpools called Eternity ,
in this sequence which will be incognito
our beautiful doubt, do not know who we are and we know we will be
and how we, beautiful and inevitable,
but while here we are, live, really live.
In memory of Emily Dickinson




22


EVENING FLAME OF YOUR VOICE
"I just want the quiet, the murmur of your voice veiled" WALT WHITMAN




In crystal balance, moderation, serenity,
prepared my heart for your tongue
ex and wish my time, waiting porch
the magnificent moment of peace desired
high full of compassion and knowledge, essential
men sounds all voices
structured
vertices linking us with the clarity that shines
nexus of thought and love true, the tender feeling
spiral of my soul
rise to the cadence of the cooing
of voice calls to your evening.





23
FEEL feel like feel like feel

is turned off while fulgida
feel the transformation in myself as his blood
fills me

coursing through my veins and sweat off my body sweats ,

the heart beats in my chest
passionate as his gaze
the horizon of my dreams,
means so much to me I have no thoughts


where there is not no life to share, I live in two permanent
.






24 DO NOT KNOW IF I WILL ROCK
"Again Love, under his dark eyelids
me setting the tender gaze of her eyes"
IBICO


I do not know if I will stop at the rock
my shameful despair in the icy rush

greedy guzzling acolytes lovely Aphrodite nutritional
magma
overcome by spells which were thought skillful deceit, desire no glimpse

never Leucadia had already
brew ration for extended cyprid within me
with fearful caution
yield to the eyes that gleam with bundles of tenderness in inextricable
the inmost shrine of my soul,
not know if I take the steep
the beautiful light that bubbles beneath the dark
but I will not perish in the hollow monotonous
fixing
neck of indifference which I will not continue sitting without Odysseus Penelope
and looks great ugliness afraid.





ESE 25 DEEP HOLLOW

That gaping hole in the space we inhabit

hardness of the outlines of a painful void, weightless heaviness
holds my dream

fibers feeding my essences

groundless expectations and as I
away from the space we inhabit as a probe

your no chasing me.



26
CORPÓREA TONE OF SILENCE sound of silence
Corporal

drowned by my tears
aquifer and your eyes

harbinger of a hole so present and invisible as nudity

of my wishes
those that crackle
in the absence of
secrets we will never
.





27

LOVE IS PARADISE
"Love is not a paradise, is loss of consciousness
personality"
ANTONIO GALA




paradise Love is not only in
the Eden
Platonic world where the gods enjoy pleasures, in our arid world

is stripped of conscience, were torn off piece by piece
which
Thumb deposited on the busy road reduced
segments of our personality,
to decrease when the primordial fire
have gone north or back to the source.





28
NOT WANT TO KNOW THE LIMITS
I do not know the limits of my aural world

comfortable embrace
fences that define my current residence I have a language


so huge and high in the
vertical sword not let the sun of the words I love the continuing uncertainty

the intangibles that expands my domains
with outposts of syllables forming brackets rich
phonemes,
I break all
Finistère Domenico
spongy fertile silt and delight,
stop being ignored
scenarios
my troubled steps and if grass-eater my hesitations
fire atmospheres and meanings
away large formations of proparoxytone
slopes and irregular components which ensures that my body
poetic mantra
of fins, wings, gills, and dizziness, vertigo
to scroll to whip
membranes of my poetry and they sprout
my sound silences conquest
rams himself, go into the infinite

open where they hide my fears
and the spiral of my lexicon
I suck my ignored.





29
WANT TO FIND THE PROPER PSALMS
I find the appropriate
to recite psalms and repeating
Navajo shaman to bear the words, that my mouth
saliesen
walk and to form a voice
genuine original and magical, their constant intonations

multiply the magic of words and their wealth
support
pillars of my creative writing, finding scattered essences

from the radiant sun of my
Spain in the imagination of my Arizona
charged shamans, syllables, words and flavors.




30


poetic objects "is less a style than a transmitter of thoughts" WALT WHITMAN



I

In the firm belief that personality character gives
Complete
poet in developing its edges
the zeitgeist
in harmony without longing to give his concession speech

best auto
the clearest signal transmitting

thought



III
Since the signal
subtly lit space to create the sound stage

opponent of laws
time auscultation fire of pristine voice

molding forms of multiple characters


receptor transmitting spirit as elusive.



31


STIMULATION IS STILL "is still stimulative, spreading across the land
bloated, the moose" JOHN KEATS



In this world so subtly bloated
where we consume copious crying meninges
and white and gray matter
accommodated in parsimony and desist
languor of feeding from rich beauties
cross a channel openings
feelings of pleasure that catalyze these wishes and thoughts
incipient or full of Essential
those initiatives that distinguish us in the animal kingdom
simple beings, skillfully trained. In this land
systematically bloated
stimulus is needed irreverent
of mediocrity we lift the poetry.




32
Primal Devastation
not handle my palms and my emotions
airy and free, without macula
recipient of boundless understanding
to reverse its contours
and enslaving me and sever
by his indomitable conviction,
if you want your fill of free crystalline,
not deny their rights to vent their thirst
from the principles on which the molecule of hydro
the daybreak of his designs,
to nourish the morning lights brightness of light and dark
satiated their beauty
if you want the pipes of my palms
inappropriate and clay castings
outlining the edges of my freedom which

shoes of china to reduce the basis of my balance before birth
my hands.





33

an insatiable Injustice
You're devour the world, devouring emptiness
centuries and worlds,
like a huge tomb.
Damaso Alonso



An injustice insatiable devouring the world, in these times where
wonders and gadgets
lead us to explore celestial constellations, be exercised
fuel, a certain future
bar code and guarantee of success
where valuable rise on the poor,
no place for the weak at that stage
profiling towards progress in the weeded
herbs dwindling
just stay succulent medium firewall
to exercise while the machine fed

generates welfare
waste and opulence of the few, on all
under hollow sky, vast emptiness
where dead piglets, paid
certainty of the best of all possible worlds,
as forest land burned stay

the millions of dreams that will expire before sprouting
in the darkness of the black shadow.
Twenty thousand children die every day from preventable causes





34

of inclement SPECTRAL DANCE WHITE COLLAR
"The mask dance between columns of blood and hurricane numbers
Among gold and groans of unemployed workers" FEDERICO GARCÍA
Spectral

LORCA
harsh dance on grueling
white collar bone network vessels of gold

holds that on murky waters
starving and walking bottomless abyss. Centuria

without learning or responses to the columns of needy blood thirsty
viscous lubricant greed, insatiable
Pantagruel
flow feast where all the arteries vomit.
Low calcium grid where they dance
innocent drinkers tears
tubers sprout arms of shadows, tentacles wrap

cuttlefish ink and blinding of poor children. Labyrinth
tumultuous
bottomless fall of clocks without hands, or north cliff of orbits

unceasing clear eyes that the dancing meringues mounted
silver feet.
Rugen million blind worker ants

aspiring heavenly worlds of faith and obedience unchanged, disconsolately gemidoras
details that make up hurricanes
gold teeth.





35


AURORA "The dawn comes and the night gets in your mouth
because there is no tomorrow and hope possible. FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA




I-AURORA IN THE HUDSON BAY
auroras are emerging in the deepest night
exhaled by the time stopped tundra where the dawn
rests in the belly of the snows set
dance forms and breath of life,
of spectral spirits frolicking in the wilderness like children
livid through shamans,
purifies the nebula of the vastness of the open
guiding their daily experience the silence of the dark
clarity of paradise twilight.
II-AURORA IN THE HUDSON RIVER MOUTH
auroras are clearly emerging in the most terrible
at dawn
fooled by artificial light colored cement swarms of heaven, kingdom
laws everyday hustle and cries of anguish
where numbers
walk quietly devouring families in cold bowls of mud. Hudson
lead no hope for the twenty-six possible
thousand children die every day
welcomes the true light of the post.





36

IN THESE TIMES PERFO
decoy "The poet despídanlo!
not come into play
spends his days brooding "HEBERT PADILLA



In these treacherous times
snares dizzying speed of a disjointed
us we slice the intimate substance critical shear discharges
with density, with
overlapping impacts appropriate responses
our
crave to know, to object, to interpret music
the meanings of words. In this scenario spectral
dreamless
no room for the game
unlikely to reflect on the tricks
producing colors
numbers that charge added notionally
values \u200b\u200binto beautiful panels that obscure aseptic
exercises Abundantly shed blood of
insignificant and just losers. In these difficult times
soulless
there is no gap on the shelves for debtors,
for leisurely musing of fools
always trying to find meaning,
essence, instead of accepting the game
marking the inexorable, stony inertia
solid foundation of the perfect world
plane which bothers the edges of the poets.
.




37
GINSBERG clearly had
"and send this message to young people
despising the poor and the liberal Jesus meaos
The message is Compassion cause the fall of Wall Street"



ALLEN GINSBERG I
Ginsberg was clear to almost his deathbed
after kicking the monster's entrails
to smell their excesses and bite their viscera,
knew where he saw the danger the devourer of everything grindable
the insatiable maw monster fireproof
excretory incontinent wretched poor guano fertile
collars of shirts, flowers and neat,
should not have compassion for the payment of
losers because they would lose their seed-germinating substance adelgazarían
and also the just wallets
support a path of security and progress.




II Go and meaos in latrines where the poor dwell
those who have what they deserve, ugly and unhappy, asocial
lazy, dirty and unbelievers to pray if they pray to a god
unfair to those who protect her kingdom
in this land of heroes, villains, winners and pathetic,
do it and acted in good conscience because it is written
and good stock is the duty of defending
word is assigned to you and your just privileges.




38
BURNED ALL THE PREMISES
Calcinara all farms,
dreams and what it takes
to obtain or maintain their privileges,
the find wrapped up in all the ideas, hopes
all in all the faith,
transparent, safe, but serving
and corrupting the sweetest poison.
injustice has engulfed
parents, and leads many worlds and centuries, and has no basis
because it comes at the bottom depths of humanity. Mal
despite us.






39

'M JUST SEEMS
"When the same dream I'm alone I reach out
not see the gap" Gastón Baquero






seems I'm alone in eternal soliloquy, far, far away
of the great light of the island in gloom
industrious, construction of deep
silences and gaps as my cold trap vacuum

envelops me like a persistent dream of bliss with caresses
lead me and bring me into paths of palms
, ghosts of silent

lactating udders the silent face of nothingness.
If
think I'm just living in a world of darkness
order a breakaway, but dream
because I have no
or silence or the great light that causes shadows
of mangoes, if I was Gastón Baquero. 40



ROPES RUMORS TRAI, RUMORS OF EAST
An apple will always be a lover but a lover
can never be an apple "FEDERICO GARCIA LORCA




brought ropes Rumors, rumors of reliable
Caravan East incense and musk,
in Mesopotamia supplies beyond beautiful apple trees grafted

collected in primitive flowering seasoning
sunrises and respond to the blind of the scale,
with golden eyes and smooth skin fruit still intact
of wanton bite but vain
seeds
morning wishes the lee of battles fires back,
plead the magnificence of divine balance and broody
pears turned limbo. Rumors
brought ropes, rumors of East
caravans humps and tongues of snakes
one of the shiny apple grafted
the most innocent, fresh and attractive, was accused of fondling the night
sting of pleasure and its interior nefarious

collapsed walking wombs giving birth to snakes
knives in fresh juices seed multipliers;
blood snatched
silenced by hemp and purity needed gravity, bringing ropes
rumors, rumors of East
caravans of spices and apples from snakes.





41
Camille Claudel
Since the unknown and abandoned tomb
Where wasting time and space consciousness
backbone of
memory and cold From the unnamed prison where the bones forged

ashes and food germinate lips livid skies throw
From invisible
to imagine days without
scenarios without chipping sizes of molded
From the distant approach of Westfall
blood fangs
harsh lunar eclipse Gaia Torn From the windows

a preclusive time inherent freedom of the inherent nature
The motion captor
Since the full moon of the sharp detail provided
Atalaya broadcaster of emphasis
That lights the dark side of things
From the completeness of the search path
Fragrant Melody
future time Away from the footsteps of his courageous steps
From the father, and overflowing joy
The strong complicity of dreams and ideals
From the stoup: Camille Ferrand
Orlando

A


42
IN
WARS wars in
reality always exceeds what is seen
and what is imagined,

sublimation is the most abject and cruel
people.





43 SOMETIMES WHEN YOU BECOME

Sometimes when we
your evening
therapy and bare the long avenue I have the loving impulse

letting
get ahead and take a few steps in perspective for

carefully watch you slowly feel as far as you're winning
see
autonomy and increases your natural beauty.
The good son of the world.




44
HOPE
hope that common sense
not understand or accept.
I pray to God that my common sense
is a bucket of water in the ocean of understanding.