The earth has the flu:
a chaotic reality scattered smashed
with shots in the blu
that crash down in a court hearing where
the reason is not on you.
The earth has the flu
because of this disgust
I do not have a clue:
without batting an eyelid
I gulp down
the poison bid
that invades seas lands rivers, the squid.
It is the time when the graveyards yawn
every instant is a final passage, a moan.
I want to get off this dream
give me back the world,
bring back the beauty of the being and its history.
Poets, do not twiddle your thumbs:
you can kiss the blue and invade the towns
with that untouchable magma that is
breath light dream and breeze.
I do not want to deceive myself
but listen to me
it is possible to bring in the spark,
the meaning that is behind the mask:
an air that touches, generates, starts it all again.
Poets do not twiddle your thumbs!
On a hard pavement
at a junction of two roads
a cat sleeps.