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.