Breviary of the reckless, by Carlos Adolfo Gutiérrez Vidal

Sometimes we die of eloquence,

anger and judgment sewn to the grass,

before the impersonal courting

enlighten the silences.

Sometimes the throat summons

the limit of some affront,

the faded geography of penance.

But before that we honor

the repellent misery

that softens the darkness of a promise,

also the pastoral touch of laces,

a bed naked of delirium.

Sometimes we die of vacuum,

of the habit of biting

the vastness that appeases intentions

and clarifies the diluted joy of days.

Sometimes a mistake is salt in the throat,

or a shaggy flirting

open to the perplexity of the instant.

And sometimes eloquence

is liquor and venom,

as the angry sanctity of insomnia

cutting raw the pleasure

undressing other edges.

Sometimes the mouth is a pit of worms.

Fotografía: © Irie  for


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