The plastic rose

The accusation finger,

and it’s corrosive eyes.

The past, the blame, the guilt.

[[[Forgiveness]]], there is none.

In death’s shadows I lay down.

Upon my head a black flower grows.

And dies, and grows, and dies!

[[[Afterlife]]], there is none.

In dreams the wise answer I seek

and all I see Oh God:

a narrow path, a dimming light,

an ancient sorrow

a rotten head, the darkest weed inside,

that grows, and dries, and grows, and dries!...

I swipe and rub against my flesh

my lovers shirt with sweat

and scent of loving act.

[[[Loving]]], dying too.

I smelled a plastic rose today,

how fresh and soft and drunk I felt.

A plastic rose I need to find.

[[[Eternity]]], the plastic rose.

Mi axila, mi coxis, tu sexo, mis pies, tus pies,

el sedoso cuero de tu espalda.

Your armpit, your coxis, my sex, your feet, my feet,

my silky back.

[[[Odors]]] the most accurate

form of remembrance.

I said a prayer to the skies

(my inexistent god by doing so I killed).

I raised my voice to the winds,

and birds were falling from the clouds.

[[[Praying]]] deaphening symphonies.

Another dream last night:

The sharp pen I grab

and stick it in my nose

and blue blood unleashes in my brain.

It’s ink rests inside my scalp

and after days of rotten flesh

the plastic rose in my head

[[[grows and lives!]]]