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I am on my way
To your house,
- The one you always wanted,
blessed with sunlight and open spaces;
Your home, your shell, you life-
There, in the corner of your studio
And pinned next to your old broken plans
Hangs one of my first smiles,
One of my first drawings.
Walking
I don’t like Barcelona-
You said, I remember,
Uttering
How meagre the city has become
Now that they’ve taken its life from the streets.
I doubted
And also said
Occasionally
That my city was poor.
Insane old days
I am missing those years of depravity
Were we thoughtlessly sought
Dark roads
Waiting to be kidnapped
By big-eyed wrongdoers.
I am missing those scrawny ashy cats
Taking up the sidewalks
As if they were sultans
Watching over their people.
I am moaning since
I’m barred from suggesting obscenities to you.
I am no longer authorized to ask you for a light
Whistling from a suspicious corner.
I was all and all made me.
I laughed and my day was electrified
With a useless smile,
So futile, it was enough to laugh again.
I lived with loss and waste
I talked to myself loudly,
My own words cuddled me,
I understood and answered my claims,
I interviewed I won my own trials.
I read quickly,
I observed slowly,
I took long gulps.
I chewed mint and strawberry gum.
- Quicklime stomach -,
Your dead lips call me,
From the funnel of hell that is my
Dried up flesh when you leave.
I sob, obscene and vulgar,
Along the old bends of my new flat,
I lock myself in, hopping the key
Sunk down the loo,
To pretend I am lost,
To pretend I am something.
[volver
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© ::julia canosa i serral:: www.yambria.org
::barcelona:: 2006
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![polémicas [risas]](../../yambria1/img/polemicas.jpg){kind=small}
