Crítica de literatura contemporánea.

Thursday, August 14, 2003


The clouds are beautiful
I am afraid of a crash landing.
Your petite shoes are laced with dread.
A symbol of your deep sleep.
When we touch the ground we are still alive.
Your slippers have become narcotic mosques.
Happy you reach for me.
You are so far away.
Such distance. Such beauty.
I love you and I don’t know you.
I can see the predators behind you.
Hunting like hungry creatures.
Ugliness overwhelms your splendor.
A fiery kiss on you head.
You magnificent body becomes flaccid.


2001, just before the twin towers fell.

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