I draw and write
I cannot draw you again
It is like touching you again
I remember every line I traced with my fingers on your skin
Do my pictures hurt you like yours hurt me?
You posted a picture of your neck, my favorite place
Ayer mataron a un chamo.
Tenía puesto un casco y una máscara antigas. Se hizo una pechera de cartón y le pinto “Yo Soy Libertador”
Todos los días iba a marchar, a plantarse, a decir aquí estoy.
Pero ayer lo mataron.
Roberto Ramirez was abandoned.
He was found one on a bright june morning, in a residential building complex in Maracaibo. He had a cardboard sign the address of a close family member that apparently lived in the building. His possessions were limited to a black…
The bells have tolled. The fruit has fallen, ripe and heavy.
Bleeding on the ground
This is it.The blood pulses on the street, rushing to the beat. Thump Thump Thump.
II. I was a mage
My robe was of velvet, the color of dried blood. I made the stars fall on my kingdom. I was a traitor. My hands played with the wind, they moved furiously out of sight, plucking the heavenly lights and thrusting them upon the dark green hills.