Incendiary Poem
Verdure-graves that grow inside me
and I wait for them to produce fruit
of what their wrinkled roots suckle
of the caves and mud of my mind.
I dare my decay and
I dare my decay as I burn
burning
yellow leaves of old poets
and whatever I loved
during the first period of hatred.
Listen to the deep voice of our veins
bullets flow in our blood
and explosions in an unclear future
tightened behind the railings of angry time.
I say: let’s open the spout
and let our drunk verse become the fuse
for a conflagration over illegal hangouts
in the poisonous skyscrapers of the mind.
Libros Libertad 