if i smoke at my window
-the tall one-
i am on my knees
on a stool
i have moved bones
like the president
or his wife
on television
unlike the show
my legs tremble
hand shakes
death remembers me
what does it matter
if ten years went by
or five or two or
none
what i feel in my blood
is a type of prayer
that i cannot
finish
4.29.16
rápidas manos frías/ retiran una a una/las vendas de la sombra/abro los ojos/ todavía/ estoy vivo/en el centro/ de una herida todavía fresca ~*madrugada* por octavio paz
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