This is not a poem. Or at least it's not a poem
on another poem in which
write about the impossibility of writing. This is the only way
after so many shortcuts and missteps.
Each sentence
crackles like those socks with those who masturbate old in nursing homes.
Every sentence seems to be the first but also the last,
a necklace and do not have words, words that once
you
suspended in the air as the climax of a hanged
but now I cling to soil and land. How
say "you no longer want /
but always love you"
two verses that contain the whole truth
and then throw the key into the abyss? How to write
"all over as it started" and then delete
and make the small print that burns itself out when we
page? You've kept the love
like notes in a handkerchief, in a mattress, full of scales
cocaine
all fingers and noses all have gone through them. And now,
love is the arbiter of a chair fencing championship wheel.
Love is a magnet with a picture of us in the fridge.
A toy forgotten that months after Reyes
regains life with a pair of new batteries
and moves throughout the house
waving his arms and tripping over every wall. ______________________________________________________
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