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Alcoholismo III

more of a childhood spent in houses
long closed and bolted. More than one child

picked up his father
streets and dragged him to shame dark places
for not seeing anyone. More than one child
felt guilty
the sadness of the man who trembles
the fury of man bashing.
More than one child allowed to pass over childhood
drank a sip and closed
secret forever inside.

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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.