The survivor

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...