Easter Sunday, Carlos Salem
Belonging be a member of a tribe a football club or a neighborhood association in which there is always the rare the suspect. Inaugurating rituals of affection to survive without oxygen plants to flourish even if the water a laptop to lend me his memory outside skin that does not end over. Something someone else I to hate on Sunday afternoon. This vacuum is filled is an elevator that moves from side a train submarine aircraft minor road crossing why do auto stop with his hands in his pocket no desire to curse the cars do not stop 'll never guess where I'm going to ignore those stop and offer me a trip to the town already I do not care to visit. Solo. Because not learn to belong at all to anyone and I always thought it was a corny case of the fox and the prince. may die alone but that of being tamed as a requirement for loved me still sounds barter with someone loses and rarely me. Solo. Though tonight the memory of your body cling to mine tin and I bite your lip to keep beg you to stay you to leave forever 've never come open again I blood that shelter wrapped in moans and lock me in it for five eternities. Closes door behind dear. I am immortal, but sometimes I forget and you remember me when it is too late. You're not. And I'm alone. are not so bad if I tune to a radio with songs that tell me who I am if you recognize me and greeted me and I decided to walk what is Sunday without committing suicide. (poem by Carlos Salem, from his latest collection of poems
Memoirs round-top man of the editorial already said Casimiro Parker )