Perjurers
We’ll keep this mutually secret; we are friends.
Our buskins are under the same undone bed.
our masks under the same empty table; this guilty
smile needs to be adjusted, must become more convincing,
sticking a carnation between its clay teeth or a sailor’s
pipe, since no one likes the austere faces, the bad seers.
We still need approval, we still need our share of immortality
exactly now, that we are still alive. Remember: the seventh
transformation of Tiresias.
Libros Libertad 