On the Run

On the Run

Little by little I lose my star.

I am the orphan of something that dies.

I open the capsule to the most virginal silence,

evidence the light and word that impede me.

I am the perfume of the disinherited rose.

The orphanhood of beauty freezes me!

The full moon man and the human oblivion dump

are extinguished inside me. My voice sinks

and collapses like the language building

where God’s seamless epicenter resides.

There is no doubt, I am leaving for balsam

and sleep. The alive desire of the sonatina

with which I call “my man” to the party

has been ambushed. It's without earth wind

or the diphthong of my lyrical moan.