Traductivo

You wake up, it's Sunday someone made love somewhere not you, someone Morning was a crime's acceptance they took you to a prison where no one wants you for himself You go out, let's say, you go out for something like saying you went out for dinner                                                  or death  but no, they don't want you out there either and death was an old saying they fooled you. The bed where you wake up is all white, except is not white is red, all red, open wound red. Someone came by the night hurt you and left you alone alone with your hands on you                touching because your body is god and he doesn't want you either Evening is not less  frightful something hurts somewhere: you just remembered who came                                by the night Remember her trying to forget you because you are that dirty window everybody disowns until someone cleans it. You are dirty and in love. Let's say, love, you gl

Eyes slaughtered as stones the night has the colour of a wound the night is made at night's heart Words burning                                         weighting words in clouds                             painfully (lovers seek the substance of love                                               in the clouds   hands discover the world                                                by touch) Deep in the man                                              a bird beats                    trembles Our skin is falling from love                       my love

South. I establish my flesh as a barely spreading rumor: Body              Breastplate                                 Bedlam   Language as a confirmation Pain as an unbreakable hiatus Man’s great avenue waits in the mouth that pronounces an I (no mouth makes  another  mouth  when you are absent)      Water voice’s flocks in the center Something dashes       perfumes                                                                          penetrates     I do the absence’s symbol: the everyday’s cross       the heart’s evil nail I establish my soul’s flutter (Where does it definite-ly rain?   Where does death’s song reside?)   The map’s rumor that I am: a bird that migrates from a body. *Mi traducción de uno de los míos. Original en:  http://0productivo.blogspot.com/2014/09/al-sur.html *