(Tomorrow in the Battle Think on Me)
********** I spent the afternoon
skating upside down with the blades of the skates
cream marble streaking the sky .
©
********** I can not turn away from the bitten apple sin.
is poetry. Intimate and intense
bursts from tiny broken glass, fireplaces
like flashes of life,
in the German forest humus
oozing ravings of cones. Break into the alleys
Arab
freshness of shadows and the sources that drive away the haze.
Verses seek the torrid heat or ice
to emerge in some slow and hidden slit
as does the flower of the snow. Torn between two worlds
the poem explodes
rebels strongly amid the darkness and the clear
between clusters or silence. Covered by a blanket
bluish silver
hiding repetitive and persistent question
What is moral? Moral
is releasing to the other
you need to be happy. Intoxicated
verses
want to get away from the breeze sifted
I thought.
But no resistance now.
give up, I am ... a poet. ©
*************
(To Elena Otero, papers you saw this afternoon in the cafe are this explanation)
***********
Without tenderness and release
I can not breathe. ©
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