DANIEL DE CULLA

 

Boy, Put The Pacifier In The Skull

It's Crying

On the desk table

My grandson and I played at putting together the skull.

I put a brain full of sawdust in it.

He cut a flower

And put it between his teeth

Because he had lost his pacifier

When I said to him:

-Boy, put the pacifier in the skull, it's crying.

-Grandpa, do skulls cry?

-No, my grandson.

Skulls laugh at the living

Who are more stupid than a plow

Because they only know how to kill and rape

Even if they pull mules

Of Artificial Intelligence

Which is how donkeys bray

With their IIIII AAAAA.

-Grandpa, at midnight in my dream

This skull always comes to haunt me

And I hit it on the head

With grandma's castanets

With which she dances in her musical group

With your penis-shaped dildo, grandpa

With which you touch your prostate

As you say yourself

That, in its hard plastic head

It resounds so well

Like the penis of my uncle José “el Calavera”

Joseph “the Skull”

Because he is bald

Who was a priest and an insurance collector

After leaving the Church

And he puts his hard penis against my ass

When he takes me between his knees

Singing to me when he comes:

-The shepherds are leaving

To Extremadura

Your ass is now sad and dark

And he tells me, at the end, that:

-The shepherds screw the sheep

In the sheepfold

That, for that reason, they are always

So sad and silent.

Clay Cauldrons

A storm fell from the sky

Because it has rained a lot

And it is running high

Breaking rivers, bridges

Roads, streets, houses and corrals

Without having compassion for children or adults

Making soups out of clay in cauldrons.

Making their way

The kings have arrived

And a couple of politicians

To court the survivors

And they have entertained them

With a little of their clay

Calling them obscene and liars

Shouting at them:

-Our loves are not for you

They are for our dead

And missing.

Go back where you came from!

Among the good men and women

As always happens

In all the grotesque demonstrations

Brutes and animals emerge

Who want to get the cuts

From the clay cauldrons

Some with shovels

Some with sticks

Wanting to reach the face or the skull

Of the kings and their politicians.

The king was grazed on the ear

The queen was hit in the face

“So you can look pretty with the mud”

As a villager shouted at her.

A politician, with his back turned

They almost broke a rib, shouting at him:

-That stick could have split your skull.

If you ask them why this

These brutes and animals

They, cheerful and lively

Answer you:

-Because it has rained, and the Dana

Has brought us a lot of mud.

Day Of The Dead

Full of sorrow and tears

We go to visit our deceased

Confident that they will not have left their graves

Where they are better off.

Those who are cremated

Become green poop flies

Or annoying flies

If they did a lot of harm.

I met people from the town and from outside

And I greeted one who was thought to be dead.

I also greeted other people

That I had never seen.

Yesterday, on Halloween

I saw myself singing in a party group:

“The donkey has already died

That carried the vinegar

God has already taken it

From this miserable life.

What a tururururú

What a tururururú

It's your fault.”

Now, in front of the grave

 I asked my brother-in-law

And, in his name, all the deceased brothers-in-law:

Yes, when they stretched out their legs

And wrinkled their snouts

With their tails up

They told us confidently:

“Goodbye, Eggs in  caseroles. See you later”

Then I realized a great reality:

That the dead are important

And the living are worthless.

DANIEL DE CULLA

DANIEL DE CULLA: Writer, poet, painter and photographer. Member of the Collegiate Association of Spanish Writers, Earthly Writers International Caucus, Poets of the World, (IA) International Authors, Surrealism Art, Friends of The Blake Society, Nietzsche Circle and others. Director of Gallo Tricolor Review and Robespierre Review. He has participated in numerous Poetry and Theater Festivals, has collaborated and collaborates with various magazines and newspapers such as: Otoliths; The Stray Branch, Down in the Dirt Magazine, Allien Buddha Zine, The Poet Magazine, Uppagus, ReSite, GloMag, Fleas on the Dog, LAROLA, RAL'M, Misery Tourism, Leavings, The Creative Zine, Terror House Press; and other national ones: Pluma y Tintero, Letras de Parnaso, Revista Azahar, Cultura de Veracruz; Vericuetos,  Sol Cultural Center, etc.