In the heat of pain
From the incarnation
This spirit of body and soul constituted
Appeared, serene.      
 
Finitude
immense glory
Decked out with a scent of circumstance
Sprung in its zenith.      
 
Audacity and risk
Thrown away as needed
Remains the tortillon of the entrails
strangling some old-fashioned dream.      
 
Real presence of nature and the world
Poetry is the secret of being
The central fire of a country
where you don't die.      
 
Clicking the heels of the guard
On the cobblestone
The image of the Angel arises from my name
Analog sign of a familiar rumor.      
 
sacrifice and fight
For the highest idea
Only have an equivalent of the cutting edge
Legitimacy.      
 
Farmer and aesthete
Join the Gods and Legends
With the watermark of the white page
Summons roots of consciousness.      
 
To let life become daily
Don't tear the honey from the stubborn wax
Happy embrace of appearances
In our time of standardization.      
 
The rats ran
In front of the food distribution
Without nerves and brain taking over
Of " the Being-there of the Annunciation ".      
 
This thigh injury
Is the rejection of the Guide
Without the procrastination and servitude of power
Without even conquering the land of shadows.     
 
favorite landscape
the language is beautiful
By fidelity to deep hours
The most secret prayer.      
 
Tragi-comedy of the irreplaceable flame
Common flower of the Don
Of what gives to say
Becomes voluntary servitude.      
 
Poetry will no longer be the drum of instincts
She will educate ahead of the action
The announcement of the above
The heart of the Dream that passes without seeing me.      
 
The secret of the Sun is the Night
As the Night is to the Black Sun
Moose that feeds on conquests
At the very heart of the resources.      
 
With double eyes
Nostalgia and audacity
The bow of the ship
Exceeds the Great Cape.   
 
Books
Ride the smell of flowers
And of the choir of memories
The Whispering Clay.      
 
Screens that take us by the throat
Let's have a seamstress distraction
To turn to the Essential
Being Uncreated Light in the bottom of the pupil.      
 
From one dream to another
let's buzz
The generous bee
Eternal until its last day.      
 
Just weighing the moment
Oscillation between the past and the future
On the edge of the abyss
Is the true life of precious hours.      
 
" Our Good and our Beautiful "   
Monkey the Most High
And the poppy meadow
The greenness of words.      
 
Is it dying
than not to be
From one island to another
man of desire ?      
 
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