Tonight will not be alone: \u200b\u200band I have in my hands Landfill ( Sevilla, Cangrejo Pistolero, 2011), the book-album of Fernando Bazan, " vice. "
feel how the pages marked by throbbing twenty-four years of neglect. Groan inside inconsolably, fall poems about love, friendship, faith, solidarity. Fernando bones creak under the dirty paws of weak thought. But I'll be in my bed, wipe away their tears and my eyes will give you the touch readers who never been given.
DEAD BIRDS
The floor is covered with dead birds,
some feathers still floating in the air,
will fall upon my feet.
write staring at the ceiling,
naked on the bed where the last bird
dying after falling sharply, thorny
with broken wings,
dying in each line, splashing
paper
my hands dirty,
filled with life.
I have only my dead bird.
Tonight I will not be cold. Fernando is here me, and bitterness, and anger nearly killed the first fly, to cause the cataclysm. Do not litter in the kitchen, Fernando, because tonight you do not kill. Deictics change and for a moment, I will be Cyrenean to hold your cross and spit on the dead birds for the birth of flames from the ashes, so that their shadows do not fill you sow life that you and I know so well . Until such day, I will watch your Landfill.
feel how the pages marked by throbbing twenty-four years of neglect. Groan inside inconsolably, fall poems about love, friendship, faith, solidarity. Fernando bones creak under the dirty paws of weak thought. But I'll be in my bed, wipe away their tears and my eyes will give you the touch readers who never been given.
DEAD BIRDS
The floor is covered with dead birds,
some feathers still floating in the air,
will fall upon my feet.
write staring at the ceiling,
naked on the bed where the last bird
dying after falling sharply, thorny
with broken wings,
dying in each line, splashing
paper
my hands dirty,
filled with life.
I have only my dead bird.
Tonight I will not be cold. Fernando is here me, and bitterness, and anger nearly killed the first fly, to cause the cataclysm. Do not litter in the kitchen, Fernando, because tonight you do not kill. Deictics change and for a moment, I will be Cyrenean to hold your cross and spit on the dead birds for the birth of flames from the ashes, so that their shadows do not fill you sow life that you and I know so well . Until such day, I will watch your Landfill.
0 comments:
Post a Comment