La Vida Moderna

A drop of blood on MTV,
a corpse connected to the Internet,
Mona Lisa crying in the garden,
a cyanide liqueur,
let the future die,
the day after tomorrow is yesterday.
The heart disease
so deadly, so eternal,
tinges the adventure of the self with bitterness,
dangers of modern life.
A sect of Cain's brothers,
a tear on the computer,
etchings of the Berlin Wall,
ice catwalks,
for models
violated by Christian-God.
Musical tragicomedy,
cemetery of kisses,
today, adrift, on General Paz,
the galleon of excesses founders.
Philosophies of the outskirts,
rock and roll martyrs
discussing, between the legs
of pain,
the algebra of modern life.
And in the end
I never know how to start
to tell you loudly
that I need
more than breathing,
that I need
to escape
from the purgatory of surviving,
until the year two,
until the year three,
until the year ten,
until the year one hundred thousand.
Solitude
is the equation
of modern life.