Cocaine

Cocaine

Let’s plow the devil’s property

until the day of the golden ring

and the cloying gala

with an anthem to the Blessed Virgin

At the Love Market you find

buttocks paralyzed by rubber dildos

whisky, gold, and other assets

so you drift in that direction

so you’re not short of goods in your old age

You’ll open your eyes touching your husband’s back

He’ll squint and touch your backbone

You’ll both load fingers and hands smelling

of drool, shit, and lies

the devil’s property

You’ll sleep like devalued currency

cheapen gestures without any real meaning

Two separate lines

on a glass made of ice dreams

You think, you stir, and you join

disengage images of your days of silence

This is how you wake up,

attracted to the roll of bills time despises

and uses to consume you