I can only begin to feel the solace
modicum of detritus
Enough to understand this disquietude
Why cowboys in blue boorishly shoo off
Like a boon in their eyes
Ascetics from ethereal heavens of spraying
Prophetic
As if their word was a consequence
Contrite all the excellence
But don’t surprise
Yourself
When there is no one next to you
Because toying of hearts
Bills that amount to breaking vows
Chasing a noun
Instead of projecting verbs in the now
To penchant repression
To think of impressions
---
A los cambios que nos hacen entender que no es raro el que estemos aqui, de pies, parados, RIP, La Negra, Mercedes Sosa.
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