Charles Andres Alberto

No hay montanas en el aire,
nada encima del viento;
Por lo que ves es fe pura,
y lo que oigas, un himno.
...

The wilted pedals on the Golden rose
flew away in the Autumn breeze.
They soared above the sun, and by the shore;
They carried themselves over the seas.
...

It is go time in the city
Where the road blocks topple down-
And are strewn about like legos
Round the corners of the town.
...

I will let him pull the trigger today,
and tomorrow and the next day.
I do not think much of this because
I have too many tricks in my bag.
...

I think it was there where the wind blew back
the straw covered village of leaves-

Or there, when Auntie Ro-Ro kissed a rose
...

The super sub-particle camel rags float in hoards toward my head.
And I am expecting a license to engage in a duel with these clouds
of moccasin sheep before the eventual Armageddon of
businessmen eat the custardy benefits of same-sex partnerships before speaking silent monologues in the box in the corner of
...

Circles of thought rising through the smoke-
Shall we listen to the the faint voices, coughing?
Drops of water, whispering-
And the wiser posterity, remembering
...

There, that- through the river-
He, whose face perturbed, despaired a splendor-
upon the quiet quail surrendered-
whose feathers flocked the fall of summer, utters:
...

That, over there, I looked at the river-
Smiling heely through the birch
And maybe coasted off the wayward march
And though arrived in giddy fashion-
...

I was bred by April in May,
And that was when the morning birds flew-
When the tugboat broke the ring of flowers in the bay.
...

By these starry dreams in which all the
night winds do compass,
Toward the rolling sills of woven cliffs
that tremble at winter's Mass,
...

For as the moon rises
and sun melts away,
and the wind becomes lost in the trees,
The solemn expression of hope
...

I see things;

the likes of which They do Ignore.
...