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Alcoholismo II

He left without saying goodbye,
simply did not return.

We search. We
swollen belly, yellow eyes
,
his trembling fingers.
seek your walking crooked, their voices hoarse
,
grabs,
his delusions.

We looked at other faces lonely
under bridges, in doorways
,
in banks,
in parks,
in the field.

We looked at churches, soup kitchens
in solidarity,
in fights,
in begging door to door.



We seek to find a cool summer day
strangled with his own hands.

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Alcoholismo I

Summers
are cold when you sleep in doorways,
when the tremor of the fingers
play songs without violins,
when cirrhosis,
when the pains.

Summers are delusions,
not exist for the beggars,
us, we always have cold shivers heart

us and drink our solitude as the only
exorcism.
Solos, hoarse
our loneliness. We drink
one by one,
a drink,
until we die,
to forget that once we lived life

and lost.

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Acoso sexual III

in that house was no longer the girl who combing braids. We stopped to see
washing feet in a ditch. We stopped calling
hungry to hear the doors.

Misery street crime,

wounds covered him and shrugged his shoulders when he saw
from its destination

sad sad dispute between maids.

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Acoso sexual II

was a man without sweat or cuffs worn. Dragged
heart.
made his offer:
my daughter in exchange for bread, meat
of oil.
would take her home so that you clean
crust,
to polish her silver, so that you ironed
sheets.
would take her home.
is take my daughter
only just skin and bones,
only hunger.
he would take as an offering.
he would take my house without tablecloths,
without food on the table, my home
humiliated by poverty.
would take her to untwist the braids,
to plunge in the bones
all woes of their misery.
And again, if
one day a week
eyes and stone.
And again, if
to share their salaries edge.
And again, if
to forget that old
that
lacerated skin to make blood. To
a moment forget that old
could buy anything but decency.

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Acoso sexual I

said he was going to take off the dirt, lice.
said he had to be a maid by day ago
braids
let go and not close the door.

said I put up with nausea,
not to cry,
than me what else I did take off my panties.

said be quiet,
to swallow saliva,
Do not shake.

For a meal I had to open
a thousand times the legs.

To avoid starvation.
order not to die another death. To
another death will not die early.

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Silvia says that dreams are so delicate that the slightest slip will break into pieces.

says that they have to be careful, do not shake too much, not to speak aloud, we let them grow at their own pace and never, never, never push or force them to hasten their passage.

Silvia also says that dreams are but dreams if they pass the time astride of love, if they remain thirsty in the night slowly hug and caress.

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says

Silvia today can not be a poet.

says she always plays the verse precarious work and early morning cough, but was fired today in a dream, without letters, without notice, he said, "not you again tomorrow" and found in the street with hundreds of offices impossible , long lines of men and women charged with uncertainty, the cries of the children.

Silvia says, no, it is not possible to be a poet in this world split into two halves where the word are those who do not tell the truth.

No, it is not possible to be a poet, close your eyes, clench his fists and let the air run.

No, says Silvia, this is not possible.