My dear little heart walked through the grass and the dessert among tigers of flame and blue mountains embracing the moon pulled by the clarity of my nose, then the clouds arrived to extinguish the fire. My hair became mist and my little heart laughed. It's so small, so very small, like a moth trapped inside a seed lamenting the disappearance of the sun the river and the mountains to condense the elements and the stones, who were laughing for the last time, and my heart grew even smaller, until it stopped laughing and beating. Then my eyes, clear droplets above my hat, became silent and fear went to dance with the table who was full of promises and gifts of fame and gold, they all embraced and disappeared on a cloud where my simple soul became dim and dimmer as a Christmas light or a floating feather that was a serpent with a frog inside her belly, the frog spat on my face and all the crosses and thorns were ripped out of my skin, the prayers became fog and smoke, then my tongue received the gift of prophesy. In the end I was able to see the three blind stars who were floating on the silent stillness of spilled ink.
Writer, poet and boxer, has published two books of poetry, three magazines and two plays. Has lived in NY and Mexico City, Writer of a theater play called "The Thaw" based on the story by the surrealist poet Benjamin Pètret. He is currently living in Mexico City working on the staging of his play. Fluent in English, Spanish and French.