EDITH ELVIRA COLQUI ROJAS

 

Autopsy Of The Verse

 

I take the sharp scalpel

I open the head of the verse,

then his stomach,

how do you spit

the body, blood of words.

 

The veins and arteries dilate,

the heart of the poem keeps beating,

I cut the verse to pieces,

I analyze their literary and rhetorical figures,

if you haven't used them

this corpse will dry up.

 

I examine the corpse

under the microscope

I look at her nails

his clothes,

I conclude that this poem is dead.

for being monotonous, trivial

and without creative brains.

 

EDITH ELVIRA COLQUI ROJAS