Invitation to Dust
Invitation to Dust Am I poet or sheet of paper, my soul asks in the cruel infinite /night of the sea that is never serene… Manuel Ramos Otero , Invitación al Polvo You, Manuel, the seductive arch of a bay, a drop descending on the half-light, feet circling my suicide hour. We were tangueros* of the same tile, tropical byway, creek mist, and love's insomnia. Dancers with the white silent breeze of despair. *Boleristas take their stilettos for a stroll while you burn your tongue, nail it to your pride. I spit on you, all you neutered men and women frightening children playing in schoolyards. You’re nothing but a simple invitation to dust.