- Pulpit, 2011
This morning I found you hanging with your gaze fixed and your head drooping.
I stayed for hours looking at you. I fasted and I’ve wasted away.
I spent whole nights not sleeping, immobile, thinking of you, your shadow, about posterity, those words.
I cut the rope with a blade, slowly embracing you. On the marble of your grave I infected the inflamed ulcers of other singers
- On Fire, 2008
My head is on fire. I can never get away, I am unable to.
My skin burns, it brings back the pain.
My thoughts blaze they burn up the laurel.
Words ask, for more words, they echo.
You will not free yourselves of me. I will stew your nights with my verses
- Predicament, 2011
You have eyes of stone, sculpted, of charcoal, drawn.
With those you examine every silence, question the words.
You are dark like the forest, you shiver, seek refuge.
You are able to see, you alone, the enormous cleft in the earth, the faded spirits that throw themselves in, who sobbing seek the good light of the sunset to vanish
· Linked, 2011
Have you got my ticket to leave?
Send it to me please, I need it. This is the moment.
The night is black and starless. The path is long, it demands a stop.
The sky has no pity, it only awaits our melodrama to take off. We will soon reach the right height, we will cover our eyes swallowing.
Do not fear going; near or far it will last but a moment, a puff of wind
- Liberated, 2017
My head is splitting on wakening from a convulsion.
But there is no putrefaction, no scar, no pain.
The wound remains open without shedding blood.
Above me a rank of desperate looks winks.
I no longer have the strength to hide my anguish and you too, I know, tremble in the bones, you try to free the spirit from these fragile deposits, from your boundless night
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