Shadow
Since I lost you, my beloved, my shadow doesn’t follow my steps, the cloud descends to annul the reason for your death, and I, Oedipus, stand before the sphinx. On the first days of November, you find the empty plaza with chairs searching for bodies and the pine trees sieve the stray sunray, sparrows call for a handout from the man with the buttoned coat, and I search my pocket for the lone toothpick.
— You still have to trim the junipers before the first frost.
The bitch hides her ugliness under her smooth makeup, mind in menstrual anxiety that underscores her sexual appetite as the jib yearns for the mistral’s kiss as I mingle with the people searching for my nonchalant dream, orphaned catamaran leans against the wooden dock and patiently waits for the next season as I feel the void of the world without you, my beloved.
—I must keep reminding you of the potatoes in the vegetable patch.
Finally, night comes when the gray owl sits on its throne on top of the spruce and recounts all its wisdom while paying attention to every little detail orated by the darkness.
—Are you listening to me?
I’m bereft of your body: lonely bed my prison and my destitute dream, hope for a sunlit smile from the young student across my window, and I shut my eyes when she smiles at her sexy idol in the observing mirror.
—I beg for an end to this travesty, but it doesn’t come
Libros Libertad 