lluviadeabril
lluvia & rain
I fell into the mouth of putrid silence
still dressed in stilts picked and laid out by me.
It’s true that no hand forces another
and it was mine that closed my eyes for me.
Yes, yes, with nails,
but only one, seven or six
that with a smile went under quietly.
So what, if now, to crawl out
from beneath a surface, I must first swallow
my distorted sense of irony.
So what, if suddenly, I must water the spines
and not forget to breed new pairs of teeth.
So be it, so be it
just please, I beg you
don’t spell it out for me
in wounds more than skin deep,
very deep.
I’ll have the nerve to bite
into blank walls of all my nothings,
if that’s the way they lately seem
from here.
Oh well, it’s just the same,
why does it matter
if I set out to bite out my own throat
and piece for piece slay vocal strings
finally free.
I must, however, forgo anger
and just the same those fangs I must forgo
if every now and then they call for hands I cherish
for more than once they lead and fed me straight,
not long ago, they taught me how to see.
I’d rather sink my teeth into just this:
I have a voice as long as I can hear you,
a skin two inches thick that sometimes feels like brick,
but mostly falls apart and weeps.
And, most of all,
I must hang on to this:
I kept the spoon
that holds the nothings
that make me strong, yet weak.
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