lunes, 8 de abril de 2013

The hornet

There isn't a hornet humming in the top of my name,
I'm not a fool, woman.
But sometimes when you call me
I see these yellow dashes bove the corners
of my eye, and these cellophan wings scratching
the thin layers of breath among us, and your mouth
pierced with needles and the terrible sound
of this hornet humming fiercely hind your closed lips.

(Soñado entre Saltillo y Matehuala, 6 de abril.)

1 comentario :

  1. es una mierda que mi inglés apeste y no lo logre entender a profundidad.



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