The Whole is maybe one role.
Where there's not root or bole.
It is one different almost-particle with a hole.
We can imagine a soul.
We can imagine somebody else's goal.
But there's no foot. There's no sole.

Es ist.

Here is one part of my oath list:
I swear to put my fist
in the darkest mist.
Where I do know how to persist

I must do if I desire to coexist.
Are there my fears? Do I still persist?
Survive: it says. Resist.

But finally, I got the gist.
There's no truth: there's a twist.
Because nothing is there: I have no wrist.


Es ese ser, ese pequeñísimo ente.
De esa callada gente
que se hace creer decente.
De la que camina el infinito camino aparente.
Deslizándose subterránea en el tiempo: de frente.
¡Ay que el que mira sea el ojo de mi mente
y no, de ese ojo, su lente!