Sunday, June 15, 2014


Escurridizo el soplo, tiempo que se disipa
en dimensiones: cabeza y cola de la llama.
Escribe entonces la historia sutil de la luz,
su epidérmica ascensión a los instantes.

Has quedado de testigo: son tuyos los fragmentos.

Ernesto G.

Thursday, June 5, 2014


My hands, a tentacle, beliefs, and the cross.
Humidity is the rose that hangs from the eternal garden
as the pyramids create the theories of evolution.
We are sophisticated monkeys, they tell us,
scientists that know the answer to every question:
but they are monkeys, too, so why should we believe them?
Humidity is a sin, but water brings forth life,
so is the absence of sin also the absence of life?
My hands are tentacles: I have an uncontrollable desire
to touch everything around me, but I´m a monkey:
evolution has done a poor job with me.
I have beliefs, a monkey with beliefs,
and crosses  and pyramids intrigue me:
the geometry of religion.

There are no eternal gardens,
just theories about why disappear.

Ernesto G.
5 de junio de 2014

Tuesday, June 3, 2014


This is what I see: blood stains kissing the cheeks
of an infant swallowed by the hands of time.
I was that infant. I arose from the living and
died slowly thereafter. This is I what I claim.
I have read books, countless books, seeking
salvation: a word can shatter invisible mirrors.
I wanted to seek the Word. I wanted to be the Word.
In an old cemetery I slaughtered the most sacred vision.
I planted a seed and ran away. This is what I claim.
Every day, every single day, I digest hundreds of sounds.
I dig the earth looking for more. I can never have enough.
I find bodies, old muses, desires, and useless syllables.
Destruction has it own syntax. This is what I claim.
This is what I hear: the noise of the butcher as he cuts the meat,
blood in his hands, sweat on his forehead, guilt in his eyes.
I am the butcher. I am the meat. I am the blood.
This is my holy trinity. This is what I claim.
Ernesto G.
June 3, 2014