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morning

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The day falls behind barely burned already useless Then comes the great light every door gives way before a man asleep Time is a tree that never stops growing Time the vast half-open gate the star that blinds It is not with the eyes that one sees the birth of that drop of light that will be that once was day Sing, bee without hurry cross the shining labyrinth in celebration Breathe and sing Where everything ends the wings begin You are the sun the sting of morning the sea kissing the mountains the total clarity the dream At half voice the world remembers how to open At half voice the dawn enters like a secret animal And the sleeping man unlocks the doors without moving The light grows the tree grows the silence grows Sing, bee in the golden wound of the hour Nothing is lost only transformed into brightness Nothing is gone only sleeping inside the fire You are the sun the first wound of the day the blue mouth of the ocean the mountain breathing salt the clarity the dream At half voice a...
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about you

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I saw a cathedral Growing out of a spoon A choir of blue horses Was howling at the moon The mouths were all melting The mirrors forgot what to do And every strange reflection Turned into nobody else but you I walked through a hallway Made of radio snow Where the angels were dancing With shadows they didn’t know A fish in a top hat Said love is never true But then he changed his answer To nobody else but you Nobody else but you In the thunder of the roses In the static of the sea In the doors that never open In the dream that dreams of me Nobody else but you When the stars come loose like buttons From the velvet sky so blue Every impossible road Leads to nobody else but you I found your name written On the back of the sun By a blind ballerina With a golden water gun She said time is a window And the window’s looking through All the lives I never lived And they’re all in love with you The city was sleeping In a bottle full of rain The saints played electric guitars On a runaway train And...
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ruinoso cariñoso

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Hay una luz en la pieza que no alumbra ni se apaga, un vaso sheno de ausencia, una sisha acostumbrada a mirar pasar los días sin pedirles explicación. Yo no espero una respuesta, ni una señal en la ventana; si Dios dejó alguna huesha, se la llevó la madrugada. Y en el fondo de las cosas no hay secreto ni traición. Camino porque camino, no por llegar a ninguna parte. Me río porque el abismo también sabe acompañarme. Y si el mundo no me nombra, yo tampoco lo maldigo: soy apenas una sombra conversando con el frío. Todo pesa, pero flota; todo arde, pero no shama. La esperanza es una ropa que ya no me queda nada. Me la saco lentamente, la doblo sobre la cama, y me quedo frente al aire como la nada misma, como la nada misma, como la nada misma. Una flor en el desierto no pregunta por sentido; abre igual su breve cuerpo contra el cielo interferido. Tal vez eso sea la vida: un gesto inútil y hermoso contra el polvo repetido. No me salven de este hueco, no me expliquen la mañana. Ya aprendí que...
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void alpha

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I took you past the southern gate where the roads forget their names, through districts of reflected dust and windows without flames. You said the night had been arranged by someone kind and blind; I said the stars were not above but something left behind. I denied it for a while, the geometry of loss, the quiet proof that every door is also still a cross. Some loves are drawn before we live, some maps are made of rain; I walked the same deserted street and never walked again. There once was a man who dreamed a planet and woke inside the dream; he kept a coin, a broken watch, a book no one had seen. Please don’t call him fallen, he never climbed that high; he only found a mirror and mistook it for the sky. Finally found a sentence, finally lost the page, finally met his double at the far end of his age. Mostly found a doorway standing open now. And I denied it for a while, the arithmetic of pain, that one can leave a universe and find it there again. Some wounds are not remembered; som...
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Albert Camus

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Verse 1 Albert walked where the white sun burned, with dust in his shoes and no return. The sea kept laughing against the stone, like it knew we were born alone. He said the world won’t answer why, no hidden hand behind the sky. Still someone stands where the streetlights hum, holding to nothing, but holding on. Chorus Holding to nothing, nothing but breath, nothing but morning rising from death. No final meaning, no holy song, just the absurd and the will to go on. Verse 2 A man rolls his stone up a merciless hill, knowing it falls, climbing it still. Not for heaven, not for reward, not for the mercy of any lord. In the silence after every prayer, there’s a cigarette burning in the air. And the heart says yes to the empty dawn, holding to nothing, but holding on. Chorus Holding to nothing, nothing but breath, nothing but morning rising from death. No final meaning, no holy song, just the absurd and the will to go on. Bridge If the universe is deaf and blind, then we make fire with our...
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3 angels

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I met Him where the wires hum, behind the chapel door, where dust was dancing in the sun like angels on the floor. He didn’t wear a crown of fire, He didn’t speak in thunder; He sounded like a tired man who’d misplaced all his wonder. I said, “Are You the Lord of hosts, or just some echo in the fog?” He said, “Son, I’m only what remains— the ghost of God.” Chorus And I’ve been talking to the ghost of God, through a cracked and silver sky. He says heaven lost its address, and the saints forgot to fly. I asked Him for a sign of love, He gave me rain and nods. Now I spend my nights in conversation with the ghost of God. He told me He had watched us build our temples out of fear, then sell the keys to paradise to anyone who’d hear. He said, “I left no golden book, no sword, no final law. Just a candle in the ribcage and a hunger in the jaw.” I said, “Then why do children suffer? Why do good men crawl?” He turned His face toward nothing and said, “I don’t know it all.” Chorus And I’ve been ...
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ghost of god

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I met Him where the wires hum, behind the chapel door, where dust was dancing in the sun like angels on the floor. He didn’t wear a crown of fire, He didn’t speak in thunder; He sounded like a tired man who’d misplaced all his wonder. I said, “Are You the Lord of hosts, or just some echo in the fog?” He said, “Son, I’m only what remains— the ghost of God.” Chorus And I’ve been talking to the ghost of God, through a cracked and silver sky. He says heaven lost its address, and the saints forgot to fly. I asked Him for a sign of love, He gave me rain and nods. Now I spend my nights in conversation with the ghost of God. He told me He had watched us build our temples out of fear, then sell the keys to paradise to anyone who’d hear. He said, “I left no golden book, no sword, no final law. Just a candle in the ribcage and a hunger in the jaw.” I said, “Then why do children suffer? Why do good men crawl?” He turned His face toward nothing and said, “I don’t know it all.” Chorus And I’ve been ...
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