When I was born, a crooked angel,
the kind who live in shadows,
said: Go, Carlos! Be gauche in life.

The houses spy the men
chasing after women.
Perhaps if the afternoon were blue
there wouldn’t be so many desires.

The tram passes by full of legs:
white black yellow legs.
Why so many legs, God, my heart asks.
But my eyes
never ask a thing.

The man behind the moustache
is serious, simple, and strong.
Almost never talks.
Has a few, close friends,
that man behind the glasses and the moustache.

Lord, why did you abandon me
if you knew I wasn’t God?
if you knew I was weak.

World world vast globe
if my name were Job
it would be a rhyme, not a solution.
World world vast globe
vaster still is my heart.

I ought not tell you,
but this moon
but this congac
gives us heartache like the devil.