one is about my new job and the other about love


since I changed my job
i am seeing many famous people
at every corner
they pass by and greet me
they are not so bright and perfect
as they may look like on television
and when they smile
they do not look as if they were trying
like on tv

one day
i was peeing
and someone with a deep, wise sounding voice
said hello
i looked over my shoulder
there he was, that old guy from the news
fucking Pedro Piqueras
i shook my penis and
i didn't wash my hands
but I said hello

sometimes I think the woman voice that narrates
the tragic events of everyday life,
whom by the way,
has an ass that would make you forget all the pain in the world,
looks at me
in a perverse way
as if she wanted to make
a tragedy of me

i hope they understand that
when I become famous
i will not say hi to them
nor i will look them in the eyes
wheter it is necesary
or not
i want to keep my dreams
as close as possible
to reality


stop talkin about love
cuz love is not what earth is made of
this land is made of war

i want to hear you talking about spring first
"bird's melodies..." are made by hammers
and you will hear them until they are gone
so summer you beg
"my hands are sweating..." darling
there's no time for tshirts, there's no time for short skirts
i'll be walking around naked
trying to find enough time for ashes
and the season will be forbidden

check your pulse again
your hands are shaking
hidden in their sunken eyes
in the sunset of your backbone
feets with roots in the rot mother of all the wounds
and you won't kiss it
until you sail into darkness
back to the womb
a wet empty field where a woman stands still
holding a withered flower
and her tears
like bombs
into the nerve of the war
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