¿Cuáles son las voces en mi?
¿De dónde vienen y porqué exigen salir?
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Qué raro
Qué extraño
Qué difícil/lúgubre/ infausto/ crudo/trago amargo del más amargo pensar en lo que fue.
Estas manos son las mismas manos
Y las tuyas
¿Dónde están?
¿A dónde van?
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Es un invierno muy verano
Una playa
Un mar callado
-
Una vida y muchos nombres
hombres, voces
Un solo hoy entre tantos ayeres
-
Hoy hay magia en el caos
How close has I come to knowing where I want to go?
The chaos this life holds enhanced by the urge to fall eternally, unapolagetically, in love.
I dwell upon the swinddling of the feathers on a bird.
The softness of the breeze of the crisp November cold.
I stare into the tiny flames burning in my bedroom
While the sun makes its way back home
While I fall in love with the eyes that lay sight upon my words
With the men who awarded our history with the clashing
the breaking of bones.
How close have I been to truly, deeply falling in love
With anything other than my ideas
Other than my desire to explore new worlds
I have swam to the edges of lifetimes ago
Through the seas of desire
To find and innocent thought on an abandonded shore
How am I to love without loosing what I am before
Maybe the art is in the letting go
In abandoning the treasure I cling to my chest
Abandoning the me who came before.
