Psychoanalysis of Ghosts
If I don’t have love, I sound
like bronze and tinkling cymbal
St. Paul
When the ship of love enters the night, in the harbour,
the mysterious music of loneliness welcomes it. Around,
the waters are filled with flowers of every kind and
all colours and a line of naked women waits for us on
the quay. They are all ready, at our first signal, to put on
the red outfit of the divers. Not to dive into the bottom
of the sea but to come and wait for us, for long hours
tirelessly, tenderly, by the entrance of the subway. We,
of course, suddenly appear waving our big feathers and
yelling incoherent and beautiful words. Then, suddenly,
the quietness of the countryside turns more sensible
and men sprout out of the fields, men dressed in black,
who are comets and standing pianos with their white
keys that are the stars. Flags flutter in the wind,
machine guns are heard regularly, and children sing.
We hear the prophetic names of women we were meant
to love. The name of the city is Sinope too. However,
I’m not afraid of death because I love life.
Libros Libertad 