It feels no better, drinking the leaky poisons of
The serpents-
The fruiteria up the road as bright as a carnival where
I can no longer grow:
Beautiful things who are budding from her lips and
Breasts,
As she tells us all of the things that we want to hear just
So we don’t kill ourselves-
The livestock frolicking on, both real and make-believe,
The kinder ones sticking their heads out from
The cars and smiling, smiling
As they pass us on the road that hides our soul along its
Ways.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem