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My mouth is called bag of diamonds

Tailors, if you are,

beauty dress my anger.

Pedro Córdoba

Casariego

Syllables teeth hidden among the trees fall

fulminated at the beauty of your eyes

astrolabe

write on the yellow earth

phrases

crackling blaze nude

as runaway pyres

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All truths that are hosting your eyes

if poverty were flying in the wind
if the wrong woman bring

heaven new storm easier if you bleed

No words

Silence

me and you the mystery and music that grows

almond trees are opening to your scissors

urban rain roofs

mourn we cherish this ash Blessed

that hurt us and we

covers like a blanket or simple

tender for all this smoke does not know

lost