Wednesday, April 1, 2020



The Crust Of The World

What is your offer?
Your dream or your shadow?
Your future or your past?
A kiss lost
In the vanishing air of the night
Or the gnashing of teeth
In certainty?

What is your offer?
A memory of soft breasts
On which to languish
Or your dead belly
That has chosen the dark
In which you believed to be
A new You?

What is your offer?
You offer me a suspended soul
On the crust of the world,
A soul who implores mercy
For having finished


I have gone
Under your blankets,
Opening roads
Beyond the sea
To look for life.
You have exploded
As early spring
Giving me your belly,
Arching your flesh,
Your flesh that will give strength
To other flesh.
The flower is there,
With its roots,
They will grow to get wet
With your colour,
To shout
Their head off to the world.


Digs deep
In the soul of he who
Does not want to hear.
It desecrates distant love,
The love that no longer has eyes
Or fingers,
But only black rain
To satisfy miserable days,
To nourish a desert
Of mouths without kisses.


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