miércoles, 29 de agosto de 2012

Sullen


 
The bark of this early spring day moves in stealthy
—do not undo me!
soon will come the time of streets dirty with Jacaranda flowers, the heat,
and I will balloon and burst if I don’t find the obvious way.

This gust of March used to be a celebration,
now my enemy  hides amongst foliage,
drunk with ripe words and applause

How do you miss a day of life?
No sick days against foul seasons
 ‘I don’t sleep well, doctor, I’m a zombie,
a man with no reference at hand’.
So much for songs and documents
plastic bags and filth in the pond.