Snuggled up in my words
I wait for the turbulent el ñino.
Tides are calm indicates my logbook.
The equinoxes are still uncertain .
I\'m sending a mayday into the depths...
The ink of my ambiguities sailing
through the doldrums...
Shipwrecked storie for gentle dolphins ,
love torn assunder by coral daggers...
I am a penniless poet who will not
boarding the Titanic !
I\'ll stay on the pier while I wait
for a large white bird which set me down
on the slopes of a volcano, angry at me
for daring to defy it !
But this is merely the molten mass inspired by
chaotic landscapes and bipolar climates...
There are no set hours for the sailor at the heem
of the ship of fools ...
\'\' Let\'s have a glass of rum to Madame la Mort ! \'\'
I would survive in the memory of the old buccanneer,
inititiated into the mysteries of the heartless compass
that points only to misfortune ...
The yellow submarine crushed into the abysses
of the tropic of cancer .
We\'ve lost track of Lennon somewhere between
Abbey road and the dock side of the moon .
Admirable Nelson is still rusting away on his pillar .
And we haven\'t heard from Nessy since
the 66 world cup ...
One day , the killer wave will surge
from the steep cliffs of my imagination .
My soul lacerate on the reefs of the sacred insomnia.
Controlled drift that plays the dream of the waves...
I\'m leaving my bitter poetry on the ocean ,
scripture knows which way the wind blows.
I am the survivor who sculpts the skin of the storm...