sábado, 18 de junio de 2011


When tenderness blooms in my words

When the memory of your face

Begins to blend with the last tears of whisky

When tenderness sounds like an Stradivarius

Lost in the middle of a heartless blizzard

And my blood sings a blues in the dark

When I ask myself what are these

Verses written in smoke

That disaster of words naked like bones

In a junkyard

And the vultures are the only birds at dusk

And all the churches are just crippled stone

Against the bloody sky of a nightmare

What tenderness? What words? What love? What poetry

Takes place in the dull mirror of my days?

Your pictures are but ashes that the wind

Takes from my trembling hand

I walk alone. Winter will have no mercy.

Wolves are smiling in the heart of the city.

And I can´t see bonfires in the night.

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