sábado, 25 de agosto de 2012

no name

a lie like a magnet
like thunder that doesn’t clap
persists still
after a precise felling

ever since then
death froze lying in wait
til the colors of the rainbow could resolve
the colors I see reflected in these streets
in the night of your pupils
that look without being seen
in the middle of this insomoniac city
where the impenetant wound of the void remains
like a breach in the middle
of history
of the two towers
of the recently become old world
of this immigrant peninsula
breach that separates us
from the torch of liberty
like a gash that doesn’t heal
or a trench
or open vein
or  river

we have crossed the river Styx
without noticing

death is incurable

here the rain shines by night on the asphalt
and meets up with ghosts
who call us by our name
without naming us

in a park nearby
young people gather
in vigel or protest

and our feet keep getting wet...

--Lorena © 2012

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