sábado, marzo 20, 2010

Everyday 7AM

We rode brown horses

endlessly following Li Po

through the ugliness of the Bronx.


Around Castle Hill

a morbidly obese kid

showed us the feathers

of a dead peacock.


Winter under the sheets

we were two small people

tickling each other

playing Mom and Dad.


Your name is written

in all possible fonts

on the naked walls

of our yellow room.


You told me

I was your darkness

I told you

You were my joy.


Now, I fear the Sun

Ay mi amor

I miss you so much.






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