How I wake up singing.
But wake up, however, painful
not have stayed in that space,
at the time of death given.
An island not listed in any map,
a diseased cell of ignorance,
a world smothered in miniature, advanced
humanity triumphant trumpets and bonfires
in
murderers. Table
alone, without even shipwrecked,
and fighting,
whinny toward the coast, just
and animated by the memory of a breath
bitten their chips. How to wake
singing
and I'm dying of thirst and hunger
singing while pregnant aurora
overflows in vermilion promising wine,
and expanded,
stake in breads, baked on high.
I'm down, below
history
buried in torches and banners faded off. Immersed in underground fluids
and bone ash
Bandit,
unless I was not, could not,
the forgotten, neglected seed
but I am. Within
I have a leaning willow I weep.
A sad child calls me, no names.
I realize,
I realize I exist. Tomorrow I hope to awaken
singing.
Words: Matilde Alba Swann
Picture: Internet
0 comments:
Post a Comment