The gaze would become a telluric analysis
for the hands to tear the skin and rub
neutralizing ointments,
before each procession, the bodies had to be altered,
always from the inside and up to the perceptible effect,
always with the suspicion that something like that will not be repeated
neither in the resurrection nor in a boring night,
the bones celebrated the transformation,
the sweat of things
and that made of each body a secret
between what dies and what grows.
YOU ARE READING
When I close my door
PoetryI dedicate this work to all the friends who are left in the heart. To all those who love me. In When I close my door, a social interest and a renunciation for the sake of communication is explicit, the subject destroys his exterior, recomposes himse...
